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Don Quixote and the windmills. 








London, Edinburgh, <Dublin, and *(«, Tori 


C32- Do 



I. Dubbed a Knight, 7 

II. The Ten Giants, 19 

III. Tilting at Windmills, 24 

IV. The Rescue of a Princess, 29 

V. Repose, 3 6 

VI. Misadventure, ... 4° 

VII. Two Armies of Heroes, 5 1 

VIII. The Golden Helmet of Mambrino, ... 58 

IX. Freed Slaves, 6 3 

X. The Lady Dulcinea, 7° 

XI. Strolling Players, 7 8 

XII. The Knight of the Wood, 83 

XIII. The Knight of the Lion, 9 1 

XIV. The Enchanted Boat, 97 

XV. The Duchess, io 3 

XVI. Sancho's Confessions, II2 

XVII. Sancho in Judgment, "7 


XVIII. Sancho's Banquet, 

XIX. The Resignation of Sancho, 

XX. Sancho's Fall, 

XXI. The Knight Unhorsed, 
XXII. Rest at Last, 





Don Quixote and the windmills . . Frontispiece 

Don Quixote and his squire 4^ 

Don Quixote in the enchanted boat . . .100 
Don Quixote dines with the duke . . . .108 


Chapter L 

TN the village of La Mancha, on the borders 
of Arragon and Castile, there lived an 
elderly gentleman of small means who was 
known by the name of Don Quixada, which 
means lantern-jawed. 

This same Don Quixada, being unmarried 
and without occupation, passed most of his 
time in reading books of knight-errantry 
until his brain became so filled with stories 
of adventure that he determined at last to 
imitate the knights of old, and to start forth 


armed and on horseback, in search of wrongs 
to right and enemies to overcome. 

So filled was his mind with these 
romantic ideas that he completely 
overlooked the fact that, the times 
having changed, no need for knight- 
errantry any longer existed, and that 
to return to the manners and customs 
of a bygone age was but absurdity 
and foolishness. 

With all possible eagerness he 
made ready for the start, and first 
he turned out his grandfather's suit 
of armour which was falling to pieces 
from disuse, and prepared it for his 
own wear. The armour itself he 
scoured from the rust with which it 
was thickly encrusted, and finding the helmet 
incomplete, he made a vizor of pasteboard 
lined with thin plates of iron, which, with 
much ingenuity, he fastened to it. 

These preparations completed, a most 
ridiculous figure might have been seen one 
early morning issuing from the village. This 
was none other than Don Quixada clad in 


his grandfather's ramshackle suit of armour, 
and mounted on the only horse he possessed, 
a gaunt and bony animal of advanced age, 
on which, before starting, he had bestowed 
the high-sounding name of Rozinante. 

His own name he altered to Don Quixote, 
which seemed to him to have a romantic 
sound suitable to knight-errantry ; and there 
now remained but one thing to complete 
his satisfaction. In all stories of chivalry 
Don Quixote (as we must now call him) 
remembered that some fair lady figured 
prominently to inspire each knight with an 
ardour and devotion which fired his heart 
and gave strength to his arm, at whose feet 
he was wont to lay trophies of the battle, 
and whose smile was his greatest reward. 

Don Quixote, as he now sorrowfully re- 
collected, had no fair lady to give heart to 
his enterprise ; but not to be daunted by such 
a trifle as this he at once determined to find 
one : and for this purpose he selected a 
country girl of the neighbourhood, on whom 
his fancy bestowed the name of Dulcinea, 
and to whom he gave the imaginary position 


of some lady of quality. This maiden, all 
unknown to herself, was henceforth to own 
the sovereignty of his heart. 

Having now chosen his lady-love, he pro- 
ceeded, as he rode along, to apostrophize her 
in the following manner : — 

" O Princess Dulcinea, lady of this captive 
heart, thou hast consigned me to much 
sorrow and woe by thus banishing me from 
thy beauteous presence. Remember, lady, 
the loyal heart of thy slave, who for love of 
thee submits to so many miseries." This 
speech seemed to him most poetic and ap- 
propriate, for in similar language did the 
knights of old address the ladies of their 

All that day Don Quixote rode to and fro 
in the open country without any adventure 
befalling him. Strange though it seemed, 
he encountered no giant whom he might 
overthrow and then transfix with his lance ; 
he met with no beautiful captive maiden to 
rescue ; nor did he even happen to meet a 
stray dragon with flaming nostrils and burn- 
ing eyes which he could slay with his sword. 



Bat towards evening, when both he 
and Rozinante were tired to death and 
almost famished, he saw before him 
an inn at the bend of the road, at 
the door of which stood two country 
women, while at the same time a 
swineherd in a field close by called 
his hogs together with a blast from 
his horn. 

" Ah," said Don Quixote to him- 
self with a smile of satisfaction, 
" here at last is a castle with two 
fair ladies at the gates and a dwarf 
in attendance, who announces my approach 
by sounding the horn in the right manner 
of chivalry. " At the same time the two 
women at the door of the inn caught sight 
of the strange grotesque figure in its suit 
of old armour, and they were so much 
alarmed at the unusual spectacle that they 
turned hurriedly, and would have sought the 
shelter of the house, had not Don Quixote 
stopped them with the following speech, — 

" Fly not, ladies, nor fear any discourtesy," 
he cried, at the same time raising his paste- 


board vizor and disclosing part of his face ; 
" the order of knighthood to which I belong 
forbids me to offer injury to any one of so 
exalted a rank as yourselves." 

The absurdity of this speech so struck the 
women — who were, in fact, but vagrants with 
no rank at all — that, coupled with the ridicu- 
lous appearance of the would-be knight, it 
provoked them to loud merriment. Upon 
this the innkeeper came running out, as fast 
as his fat figure would allow, to learn the 
cause of their amusement. 

When he in his turn saw Don Quixote in 
his strange attire mounted on the drooping 
form of poor Rozinante, and heard his 
flowery language, it was as much as he could 
do to prevent himself from laughing as 
heartily as the women ; but being a shrewd 
man, and having an eye to business, he suc- 
ceeded in controlling himself, and address- 
ing Don Quixote in language which he 
endeavoured to make as high-flown as his 
own, he invited him to seek shelter and 
refreshment at the inn. 

To this Don Quixote consented, and hav- 


ing thanked " the Governour of the Castle," 
as he insisted on calling the innkeeper, for 
his courtesy he dismounted. The innkeeper 
then led Rozinante to the stables, and at 
Don Quixote's request the two country 
women proceeded with much inward mirth 
to divest him of his armour. 

When they came to the helmet, however, 
they found that it was impossible to remove 
it without cutting the ribbons with which 
it was tied ; and as Don Quixote would 
on no account allow this to be done, he was 
obliged to keep it on his head. 

The innkeeper now appeared with refresh- 
ments, which consisted of some badly cooked 
salt fish and some mouldy bread ; but since 
food supplied at a castle could not be any- 
thing but superior, Don Quixote proceeded 
to eat this miserable fare with relish, although, 
to add to the discomfort of the meal, he was 
obliged to be fed by the two women, since 
his own hands were both engaged in holding 
on his helmet. 

" How beautiful it is," he murmured be- 
tween the unpalatable mouthfuls, " to be 


thus waited on by two ladies of such ex- 
quisite loveliness and such exalted rank ; ' 
and as at the same moment a passing swine- 
herd blew his whistle to call his animals, he 
added, " There is not even lacking strains of 
enchanting music specially rendered to do 
me honour." 

But soon a painful thought occurred to 
him, and disturbed these happy reflections ; 
for of a sudden he remembered that in spite 
of his armour and his steed, of the 
attendant ladies and the castle waiting 
to receive him, he had never been 
actually dubbed a knight, and was 
therefore not really fitted to embark 
upon any adventure. Eager to remedy 
this with all possible speed, he hastily 
dispatched the remainder of his supper, 
and having sought out the innkeeper 
he fell at his feet and entreated him 
to perform this service for him. 

This strange request confirmed a 
suspicion already formed in the inn- 
keeper's mind that his new guest 
was a madman, and partly to humour 


him, partly for the fun of the thing, he 
pretended to treat the matter seriously. He 
therefore told Don Quixote that he was 
quite willing to do what he wished, but 
that before he was knighted he must go 
through the usual ceremony of watching 
beside his armour all night ; but that, as 
there was no chapel in the castle where he 
could keep this vigil, he would allow him 
to perform the office in another place ; and 
bidding him follow him he led him to the 
yard, and told him to place his armour in 
the horse-trough, and to watch it there until 

The innkeeper then withdrew with much 
secret laughter, and he and the other inmates 
of the inn proceeded to watch Don Quixote 
as he walked up and down in the moonlight 
with his eyes fixed on the horse-trough. 
All went peacefully and uneventfully at first, 
but after a time a carrier who was lodging 
in the inn came out to water his mule at the 
trough, and finding it filled with armour he 
began without ceremony to remove it in 
order that his mule might drink. 


Upon this Don Quixote, all eager to show 
his courage, first addressed the carrier in 
threatening language, and when this had no 
effect he struck him so heavy a blow with 
his lance that the man fell senseless to the 
ground. Having thus laid his enemy low, 
Don Quixote picked up his armour and re- 
placed it in the trough. 

Soon afterwards another carrier came out 
from the inn with the same object as the 
first, and he also at once removed the armour 
from the trough ; whereupon Don Quixote 
dealt him also a blow with his lance which 
damaged his head so severely that his outcry 
brought all the other people running out 
from the inn to discover the cause of the 
disturbance. Amongst them were a number 
of other carriers, who, enraged at the treat- 
ment dealt out to their comrades, attacked 
Don Quixote with such a shower of stones 
that he was glad to crouch up against the 
side of the trough and protect himself with 
his target. 

Upon this the innkeeper, thinking that 
the matter had gone far enough, and begin- 



ning to be tired himself of the whole business, 
bade the carriers desist, and told Don Quixote 
that his vigil had now lasted as long as was 
necessary, and that he would complete the 
ceremony of knighting him without further 

Accordingly he called for a boy with a 
lighted candle and for the two country 
women, and out of a book, which he used 
to keep his farming accounts, he pretended 
to read a pious exhortation, after which he 
gave the kneeling Don Quixote a sharp blow 
with his sword, and told him to rise up as 
a knight. This ceremony being concluded, 
one of the women girded the sword round 
his waist, and the other put on his spurs, and 
the ceremony was brought to a close. 

Don Quixote, filled with pride and joy at 
his newly-conferred honour, was lavish in his 
expressions of gratitude to all concerned, and 
on asking the names of the two women, and 
being told that the one was Tolosa, the 
daughter of a cobbler, and the other Moli- 
vera, the daughter of a miller, he declared 
that they should henceforth add the title of 


Lady to their names, which, with much sup- 
pressed laughter, they promised to do. 

And now dawn had begun to break, and 
after again thanking the innkeeper for the 
service he had done him in dubbing him 
knight, Don Quixote bade him and the 
ladies farewell, and, mounted on Rozinante, 
he started forth once more in search of 

Chapter IL 

ON the following day Don Quixote met 
with an adventure which very nearly 
ended his knight-errantry altogether. 

After leaving the town, he allowed Rozi- 
nante to lead him wherever that intelligent 
animal felt inclined, and as this was not un- 
naturally in the direction of his own stables, 
the knight found himself in the afternoon 
not far from his own village. As he jogged 
along the highroad, he saw approaching him 
a company which consisted of six merchants 
on horseback, each one screened by a large 
umbrella, and accompanied by four servants 
also on horseback and three muleteers on 

This company of harmless travellers at 



once presented itself to Don Quixote's dis- 
ordered imagination as material for a fresh 
adventure, so, couching his lance and pro- 
tecting himself with his shield, he addressed 
them thus — 

" Hold ! Let no man pass further, 
unless he acknowledge that there is 
not in the universe a more beautiful 
maiden than the Empress of La 
Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del 

On hearing this strange speech, 
and seeing the curious figure which 
uttered it, the merchants came to 
the same conclusion as the innkeeper 
had done, and made up their minds 
that they had to deal with a mad- 
man ; and one of them undertook to 
answer Don Quixote, hoping thus to 
obtain some amusement for himself and his 

" Sir Cavalier," he said, with mock polite- 
ness, " we do not know this worthy lady of 
whose beauty you speak, but be pleased to 
let us see her ; and then, if we find her 


possessed of the matchless charms which you 
assert she has, we will gladly own the truth 
that you would extort from us." 

" If I had shown you that beauty," cried 
Don Quixote in wrath, "what merit would 
there be in acknowledging so notorious a 
truth ? The importance of the thing con- 
sists in obliging you to believe it, confess it, 
swear it, and maintain it without your hav- 
ing seen her ; and unless you do so at once, 
you most unreasonable mortals, prepare to 
join with me in battle." 

" Sir Knight/' replied the merchant, " be- 
fore we acknowledge this beauty of which 
you speak, show us at least some portrait of 
the lady, however small, that we may judge 
of her charms. Indeed, I verily believe that 
if we found her blind of one eye and dis- 
tilling flames and brimstone from the other, 
to oblige you we should still be ready to say 
in her favour whatever your worship desires." 

" Blind of one eye, distilling flame and 
brimstone ! " cried Don Quixote in a fury, 
" you shall one and all pay severely for such 
blasphemy ; " and with couched lance he 


ran at the merchant so blind with rage, that 
had not Rozinante stumbled and fell, worse 
things would probably have befallen him. 
As it was, he was thrown, and rolled for some 
distance on the ground, where he lay so 
encumbered by the weight of his shield and 
his armour that he could not move. To 
add to his plight, one of the muleteers seized 
his lance, and having broken it to pieces, 
belaboured the prostrate knight with the 
fragments, after which he ran after the rest 
of the troop, which had already gone on their 
way laughing at the discomfiture of their 
curious enemy. 

If Don Quixote were unable to rise 
before, he was still more helpless now, when, 
in addition to the encumbrance of the 
armour, he was stiff and sore from the blows 
of the muleteer ; and how long he might 
thus have lain, it is impossible to say, had 
not a ploughman from his own village hap- 
pened to pass that way. 

The honest fellow, seeing the fallen figure 
of Don Quixote, stopped to help him, and 
on carefully removing the vizor, which was 


broken to pieces by the blows of the mule- 
teer, he recognized the knight, much to his 
own surprise. Having ascertained that he 
was bruised and not actually wounded, he 
mounted him on his own ass, and tying the 
armour, shield, and the fragments of his lance 
on the back of Rozinante, he led them all 
back to their own village, which they en- 
tered after dark, so that the sorry spectacle 
should not excite the mirth of the inhabi- 

At his own home Don Quixote found 
the village curate and barber in conversation 
with his housekeeper and the niece who 
lived with him, and much excited the curi- 
osity of them all by his return in this dis- 
abled condition. But to all their questions 
he only replied that he had met with a 
severe fall from his horse while fighting ten 
terrible giants, and begged to be taken to 
his bed and left in repose, which was accord- 
ingly done. 

Chapter III. 


A FTER this Don Quixote remained quietly 
at home for fifteen days, recovering 
from his bruises, and showing no signs to 
his friends of repeating his adventures. But 
unknown to them he was in truth making 
further preparations, of which the most im- 
portant was the rinding of a squire. 

It had occurred to him that as knights 
were formerly accompanied on their adven- 
tures by such a person, he should also be 
similarly attended, now that the honour of 
knighthood had been conferred upon him ; 
and casting his eyes around, they fell on an 
honest but ignorant labourer named Sancho 
Panza, whom he thought a suitable person 
for the post. To him, therefore, he held 


forth various inducements, among which was 
the probability of his master conquering 
some rich island, in which case he promised 
Sancho that he should be made the governor 
of it. 

Attracted by this brilliant prospect, 
Sancho consented to give up his occupa- 
tion, to leave his wife and children, and to 
accompany Don Quixote when he next 
started on adventure, only making a condi- 
tion that he should be allowed to go mounted 
on his ass. To this Don Quixote consented 
with some misgiving, as he could not recall 
having read of any squire riding an ass ; but 
he consoled himself with the thought that 
he could supply Sancho with a better kind 
of steed the first time that he succeeded in 
dismounting a knight. 

This arrangement being concluded, Don 
Quixote, mounted as before on Rozinante, 
with Sancho Panza on his gray ass named 
Dapple, stole out secretly one dark night 
without taking leave of any one. 

When daylight broke, they found them- 
selves on an open plain at some distance 



from home, and in the early light some 
thirty or forty windmills stood revealed. 
On perceiving these large objects with their 
moving arms, Don Quixote's lively fancy 
immediately began to work, and rein- 
ing in Rozinante, he pointed in their 
direction, and then addressed his com- 

" Look over there, Sancho ! " he 
cried. " There are at least thirty 
outrageous giants whom I intend to 
encounter. We will deprive them 
of life and then enrich ourselves with 
their spoils, for they are lawful prize, 
while to remove such monsters from 
the face of the earth will be an accept- 
able service to Heaven." 

In reply to this stirring speech, 
Sancho replied with stolid mien. 

" I see no giants. What you point 
at are but windmills ! " 
" That you should think so shows that 
you are little accustomed to adventures," re- 
plied Don Quixote. " I tell you these are 
giants ; and if you are afraid of them, go 



aside and say your prayers, while I engage 
them in combat. " 

With these words Don Quixote set spurs to 
his horse, and heedless of Sancho, who con- 
tinued to bawl after him that they were not 
giants but windmills, he charged full at the 
moving arms of the first one with his lance. 

" Base miscreants," he cried, addressing 
the unconscious windmills, " though you 
move more arms than the giant Briareus, 
who had a hundred, you shall pay for your 

His furious words were, however, soon 
silenced ; for no sooner was his lance 
thrust in the arm of the windmill than 
the rapidity of the motion broke the 
lance into shivers, and hurled Don 
Quixote off his seat, so that he fell and 
rolled some way down the field, where 
he lay unable to stir. 

Sancho, seeing what had happened, 
came running up as fast as his ass could 


to assist his master. 

" Did I not give you fair 
ing f " he asked reproachfully. 



I not tell you that they were but wind- 
mills ? " 

" Peace ! ,: said Don Quixote ; " there is 
nothing so subject to the inconstancy of for- 
tune as war. I am persuaded that some evil 
magician has transformed the giants into 
windmills, to deprive me of the glory of 

With Sancho's aid he then rose to his 
feet, and mounting Rozinante, they turned 
in the direction of a pass called Lapice, 
which, being much frequented, Don Quixote 
felt sure could hardly fail to afford fresh 

Chapter IV, 

A LL that day Don Quixote and his squire 
Sancho rode on without further adven- 
ture. They passed the night under some 
trees, from one of which Don Quixote 
tore a stout branch and fixed to the end 
of it the head of his broken lance. The 
following afternoon found them at the 
entrance to the Pass of Lapice. 

As they entered the pass they saw 
a small procession advancing towards 
them. It consisted of two Benedictine 
monks mounted on mules and followed 
by a coach, with four or five men on 
horseback and two or three muleteers 
on foot. At this sight Don Quixote turned 
eagerly to Sancho, convinced that a most 
exciting encounter lay before them. 


" Unless I am much deceived," he said, 
" this will be a most famous adventure, for 
without question those two black figures 
must be evil magicians, and the coach un- 
doubtedly contains some princess whom 
they are carrying off. It is my plain duty to 
prevent this great wrong from being done." 

" Take warning, sir, take warning," cried 
Sancho in reply, " or this will prove a worse 
affair than the windmills ! Those figures 
clothed in black appear to me to be two 
monks, and the coach probably contains 
some traveller." 

Now this was, in fact, the truth ; for in- 
side the coach was a lady on her way to 
Seville to meet her husband, while the 
monks were not in her company at all, but 
had only fallen in with her accidentally. 

But Don Quixote would not listen to 
Sancho, and full of the determination to 
meet with an adventure, he stuck to his first 
belief, and spurring on his horse, planted 
himself in the middle of the road, ready to 
confront the procession. As soon as they 
came within earshot, he addressed the monks 


in a loud and haughty tone, which, com- 
bined with the startling nature of his words, 
caused them to stand still at once, too much 
astonished to move. 

" Release the high-born princess whom 
you are carrying away with violence, ,, he 
cried, " or else prepare to meet with instant 
death ! " 

In vain the monks told him the simple 
truth, and endeavoured to soothe his wrath. 
Don Quixote only replied by calling them 
" perfidious caitiffs ; " and declaring that no 
words of theirs could deceive him, he 
charged one of the monks with his lance so 
furiously that had he not immediately flung 
himself to the ground, he would certainly 
have been grievously wounded, if not killed. 

At this the other monk urged his mule 
to flight, and was soon scouring over the 
distant plain. 

Sancho now thought to have a share in 
the fun, and hurrying up to the fallen monk, 
proceeded to strip him of all he possessed as 
lawful spoil. Then two of the muleteers 
accompanying the coach came up to rescue 


the monk, and heedless of Sancho's explana- 
tions about battles and trophies, knocked 
him down, trampled on him, and left him 
in a disabled condition. 

While all this was taking place, Don 
Quixote was addressing the lady in the 
coach, who, already much puzzled and 
alarmed by all that had happened, was still 
more so by his speech. 

He informed her that those who had 
sought to take her captive were overthrown 
by his arm, and as she was quite unconscious 
of ever having been taken captive, this state- 
ment did not enlighten her. But when he 
proceeded to tell her that as his reward he 
demanded that she should go at once to 
Toboso and seek out the peerless beauty 
Dulcinea, to tell her of her knight's exploit, 
she became seriously annoyed. 

One of her squires, overhearing what was 
taking place, and seeing that Don Quixote 
was doing his utmost to send the coach back 
in the direction from which it had come, 
flow attacked the knight, demanding that he 
should let the lady proceed at once to 


Seville ; and as Don Quixote would not 
consent, a fierce battle between him and the 
squire ensued. 

Don Quixote drew his sword and rushed 
upon his antagonist ; and the squire, who 
had no time to dismount from his mule, 
seizing a cushion from the coach as his 
buckler, returned Don Quixote's attack with 
interest. In spite of the attempts of the 
bystanders to stop the fight, it grew more 
and more furious, until it appeared that one 
or other of the combatants must undoubtedly 
be slain. A mighty stroke from the squire 
fell on the shoulder of Don Quixote, and 
would certainly have cleft him through had 
it not been for his armour ; and in return 
Don Quixote, with an ejaculation to his Lady 
Dulcinea, rushed at his enemy with his 

Now, the spectators stood breathless as 
they saw the blades of each of the fighters 
brandished in mid-air with murderous intent, 
and it seemed to all present that one or other 
of the combatants must fall. The squire's 
blow fell first, but by some chance his lance 

(1,481) 3 


turned aside so that it only knocked Don 
Quixote's helmet to pieces and cut off a 
piece of his ear. In return Don Quixote, 
now beside himself with fury, struck at the 
squire with such force that the mule took 
fright, and after plunging about for two or 
three minutes, laid its rider, all bleeding, 
prostrate on the ground. 

Don Quixote, still blind with rage, stood 
over his fallen foe and bade him yield on 
pain of having his head cut off. To this the 
fallen squire made no answer, being, 
in fact, too stunned to do so ; and it 
might have gone ill with him had 
not the lady in the coach here inter- 
posed, and, terrified at the turn affairs 
had taken, entreated Don Quixote to 
spare the man's life. 

Don Quixote relented at this, but 
only on a condition that his enemy should 
at once repair to Toboso, so that Dulcinea 
might dispose of him according to her will. 

The frightened lady consented to this 
without pausing even to inquire where 
Toboso was, or how to find Dulcinea ; and 


satisfied with this promise, Don Quixote left 
her to go on her way, while, calling to 
Sancho, who had now sufficiently recovered 
to join him, he himself proceeded to mount 

Chapter V. 


MOW when Sancho had joined his master, 
it seemed to him that so great a com- 
bat as the one he had just seen must surely 
have won the island, of the conquest of 
which Don Quixote had spoken. So, fall- 
ing on his knees and covering his hands with 
kisses, he now entreated his master to bestow 
on him the promised governorship. To this 
request Don Quixote replied that the battle 
which had just taken place was not an ad- 
venture of islands ; but he assured Sancho 
that if he would but have patience he 
would fulfil his promise, and in time make 
him governor of an island — if not, indeed, of 
something even greater. 

Sancho, satisfied with this answer, helped 


his master to mount, and having himself 
taken his place on the back of Dapple, they 
rode off together into a wood which lay close 
by. When they had gone some little distance, 
discoursing on the island to be won and other 
matters, Don Quixote announced his intention 
of seeking some hospitable castle where they 
might find lodging for the night, and where 
he might get some balsam for his wounded 
ear, which now pained him considerably. 

" I have some food here in my bag," said 
Sancho, who began himself to long for some 
refreshment, " but it is only an onion, a piece 
of cheese, and a few crusts, which, I fear, 
are not a fit meal for a valiant knight and 
gentleman like yourself." 

" Sancho," replied Don Quixote, " you 
prove to me once more how little under- 
standing you have of knight-errantry and 
adventure. Now in all the histories of such 
that I have read, I find certainly no mention 
of the knights eating except at some sump- 
tuous banquet ; but since they must have 
had food, and since they spent their days in 
wandering through forests and deserts, it is 


evident that their usual diet must have been 
roots and herbs, and not so palatable as that 
you now offer me." 

" Pardon my ignorance, sir," replied San- 
cho, " for of a truth, as you know, I myself 
have read no such histories, being able 
neither to read nor write. I will bear in 
mind, however, all that you tell me, and 
henceforth furnish my wallet with such dried 
fruit as is suitable for you, being a knight ; 
but for myself, not being bound to this, I 
will supply it with poultry and other more 
substantial fare." 

Don Quixote hastened to assure his squire 
that he by no means inferred that knights 
were obliged to confine themselves to the 
fare described ; but since there was no other 
to be had, the two companions now pro- 
ceeded to share the bread, cheese, and onions 
in all friendliness. 

After this they started to find some resting- 
place for the night, and soon chanced on a 
group of huts inhabited by some goatherds. 
At a little distance a savoury smell led them 
to a spot where the goatherds were having 


their evening meal ; and on perceiving the 
two strangers, the men offered to share their 
lodging with them, and invited them to join 
their repast. 

This they did not hesitate to do ; and 
after Rozinante and Dapple had been placed 
in safety, they joined the group, who were 
seated on skins round a kettle in which a 
savoury stew was cooking. Don Quixote 
was invited to take a seat on an upturned 
trough ; and having bade Sancho to be 
seated also, since the fortunes of war made 
them for the moment equal, they proceeded 
to have a merry meal, enlivened by some 
good wine, and by stories and jests from the 

After the meal was ended, they were 
joined by another goatherd, a handsome 
youth, who entertained them with songs to 
an accompaniment on a rebeck, an instru- 
ment resembling a violin. This performance 
was followed by a long story from another of 
the band, by which time both weary travel- 
lers were glad to seek repose, and they slept 
soundly until morning. 

Chapter VL 


ON leaving their kind hosts, Don Quixote 
and his squire met with an adventure 
which had a less happy ending than the one 
of the day before. After riding through a 
wood for about two hours, they came out 
on an open meadow full of fresh grass, 
through which ran a clear stream ; and as it 
was now noon and the heat oppressive, they 
decided to wait in this pleasant spot before 
pursuing their journey. The misfortunes 
which here befell them were, in the first 
instance, due to Rozinante, whom Sancho 
had not taken the trouble to fetter, knowing 
how quiet he was and how unlikely to stray. 
It happened, nevertheless, by ill-fortune 
that some carriers came that way with a 


drove of horses, which they were accustomed 
to lead there for grass and water, and Rozi- 
nante, at the sight of them, kicked 
up his heels, and without asking his 
master's leave, started off at a sharp 
trot to join them. The horses, how- 
ever, gave him anything but a 
friendly reception ; and to make 
matters worse, their owners, seeing 
the disturbance, and angry at finding 
an intruder on their animals' pasture, 
ran at the unfortunate Rozinante 
and beat him with their staves, until at 
length the poor beast lay helpless on the 

By this time Don Quixote and Sancho 
had come up breathless with haste to the 
rescue of Rozinante, and fired with just 
indignation, the former drew his sword and 
rushed at the carriers. Sancho followed his 
master's example, regardless of the fact that 
they were two only against a large number. 

Don Quixote succeeded in dealing a heavy 
blow at one of them, but this only served to 
excite the wrath of the whole band, who in 


return attacked them fiercely with their staves. 
The second blow dealt at Sancho brought 
him helpless to the ground, and soon the 
same fate overtook his master, who fell at 
the feet of Rozinante, and lay there unable 
to move. The carriers, now somewhat 
alarmed at the mischief they had done, 
loaded their beasts and left the scene of the 
encounter with all possible speed. 

The two wounded combatants lay silent 
for a time by the side of the equally pros- 
trate Rozinante ; but after a time Sancho 
recovered himself sufficiently to murmur in 
a feeble, plaintive voice, — 

" Ah, Don Quixote, Don Quixote ! ' 

To this Don Quixote, in an equally feeble 
voice, replied, — 

" What wouldst thou have, brother 
Sancho ? " 

" In how many days, sir," asked Sancho, 
" do you think we may hope to recover the 
use of our feet ? " 

" As to that," said Don Quixote, " I can- 
not say for certain." 

The knight then proceeded, in his usual 


fashion, to account for the misfortunes which 
had befallen them, and to prove that neither 
his own valour nor the rules of knight- 
errantry were at fault. 

" I perceive," he said, " that I am myself 
entirely to blame for our present plight, since 
I should have known that it was beneath me 
to lay hands on any not dubbed knight like 
myself. My misfortune has therefore been 
sent as a just punishment for defiance of the 
laws of chivalry ; and this gives me at the 
same time a warning for the future, and if 
low rabble again attack us, I will on no ac- 
count draw my sword against them. You, 
Sancho, being of no rank, must deal with 
them, and I leave it to you, therefore, to 
chastise them to your heart's content." 

This pleasing prospect, however, failed to 
attract Sancho, who hastily assured his 
master that he was of a most peaceable dis- 
position, and would on no account draw his 
sword at all unless absolutely obliged to do 
so. He also declared that if any one had 
ever done him an injury, he at once and on 
the spot gave him his free forgiveness. 


In vain Don Quixote attempted to point 
out how poor-spirited this was, and that 
when the island of which he had spoken 
should be actually discovered and conquered, 
Sancho would be but little fitted for the 
post of governor unless he showed a more 
ambitious and warlike character. At 
that moment Sancho was more inter- 
ested in his present pains than in his 
future benefits, and he now changed 
the conversation by suggesting that 
Don Quixote should try if he were 
able to rise, and that they should 
then help the unfortunate Rozinante 
to his feet. 

Don Quixote, with that spirit 
which in spite of all his follies never 
failed to rise to meet misfortune 
bravely, struggled up, and bade Sancho, who 
still lay groaning and complaining, do the 
same, and attend to the faithful Rozinante, 
who was probably, as he pointed out, the 
greatest sufferer of the three. With many 
sighs and groans and muttered exclamations, 
Sancho succeeded in raising his stiff and 


bruised body into the position of a bent 
bow, and proceeded next to raise Rozinante. 
Dapple was then caught, and Don Quixote 
mounted on his back. Sancho, having tied 
Rozinante to the ass's tail, then led them 
both by the halter in the direction where he 
thought the highroad might lie. 

This strange little procession had not 
gone far when lights were seen in what 
Sancho joyfully declared to be an inn, but 
which Don Quixote assured him was a 
castle ; and they were still disputing hotly 
over this point when they arrived at the 
building in question. 

The keeper of the inn heard the sound of 
their voices, and hoping to secure custom, 
went out to meet them ; and on perceiv- 
ing Don Quixote laid across the ass and his 
horse being led, he asked Sancho what ailed 
him. Sancho, wishing to avoid awkward 
questions about their recent encounter, re- 
plied that his master had fallen from a rock 
and bruised himself; and on hearing this 
the wife of the innkeeper, who was of a 
charitable disposition, called to her daughter 


and her maid, and bade them help her to 
attend to his injuries. 

With the assistance of the three women, 
Don Quixote was conveyed to a garret, for- 
merly a hayloft, which, though a poor bed- 
chamber, was the best the people of the inn 
had to offer, and they proceeded to plaister 
his body ; and perceiving that his bruises 
were all over him, the hostess remarked that 
they appeared rather to be the result of a 
drubbing than of a fall. 

" No, indeed," said Sancho ; " the bruises 
are from the sharp points of the rock, every 
one of which has left its mark. And by 
the way," he continued, " if there is any of 
that plaister left over and to spare, I am not 
sure but that my own sides would be glad 
of it." 

" What ! ' exclaimed the hostess, " have 
you too had a fall ? " 

" No, not a fall," said Sancho, " only a 
fright ; for, on seeing my dear master's mis- 
hap, it affected my whole body as if I had 
received a thousand blows myself." 

This answer seemed to satisfy the curi- 


osity of the woman ; and the maid Mari- 
tornes having attended to Sancho's injuries, 
he and his master were left on their beds 
of hay for the night. 

Towards morning, however, it occurred 
to Don Quixote that he should concoct a 
remedy of herbs, according to the usage of 
knights under similar conditions ; and awak- 
ing Sancho, he bade him seek out the land- 
lord and demand some wine, salt, oil, and 
rosemary, with which he could make a 
healing draught. 

The obedient Sancho rose, with aching 
limbs, and did as his master requested ; and 
Don Quixote, having mixed these ingre- 
dients, drank about a pint and a half of the 
mixture, which made him very sick and 
ill, after which he slept for some hours, and 
awoke feeling much refreshed and better. 
Whereupon he administered a dose to San- 
cho, who, seeing that his master seemed so 
well after his, took a large one in all good 
faith. But for some reason the mixture 
agreed with him even less than with Don 
Quixote ; and he was so ill that it was neces- 


sary to postpone their departure from the 
inn for some hours, for which circumstance 
Don Quixote accounted by the fact that 
Sancho was not himself a knight, and 
therefore not a fit subject for knightly 

His squire being thus disabled, Don 
Quixote saddled Rozinante and made 
ready Dapple with his own hands ; 
and then perceiving a disused pike in 
a corner of the yard, he seized it by 
way of a lance, his own having been 
shattered, as we saw, in his encounter 
with the windmills. 

By this time Sancho had suffi- 
ciently recovered to be able to mount, 
and all being ready for their departure, 
it remained but to take farewell of the inn- 
keeper, or governor of the castle as Don 
Quixote still insisted on calling him. This the 
knight now did in the following speech: — 

" Many and great, Sir Governor, are the 
services I have received from you in this 
your castle, and I am bound to be grateful 
to you all the days of my life. If any proud 


Don Quixote and his squire. 


miscreant hath at any time insulted you, let 
me but know ; for my profession is no other 
than to revenge the injured and to chastise 
the perfidious, and I promise you by the 
order of knighthood to which I belong to 
procure you satisfaction and amends to your 
heart's desire." 

To this the innkeeper replied that if 
injury were done to him, he knew how to 
take his own revenge, and that all he asked 
at the present time was the payment due 
for what had been supplied at the inn. 

" What ! " exclaimed Don Quixote, " is 
this in truth an inn ? Hitherto I have been 
in error, for I took it to be a castle. All 
there is for you to do, then, is to excuse my 
payment, for knights-errant, I am sure by 
all I have read, never paid for their lodging 
or food at any inn." 

" Nonsense," said the innkeeper angrily. 
" Pay me what is due, and let me have none 
of your talk of knights-errant, of which I 
know nothing. All I want is my money." 

" You are a blockhead and a poor crea- 
ture," said Don Quixote contemptuously ; 

(1,481) 4 


then setting spurs to Rozinante, and brand- 
ishing his lance as he rode, he soon left the 
inn and the angry innkeeper behind him. 

Sancho was less fortunate, for the master 
having gone, the innkeeper thought at least 
to get something out of the servant, and 
succeeded in seizing him. Some of the 
other travellers at the inn, eager for sport, 
now joined the innkeeper in laying 
forcible hands on the squire, and to- 
gether they tossed him in a blanket. 
In vain poor Sancho yelled and 
screamed as they flung him up and 
down ; the more he cried out the 
better pleased were his tormentors. 
At last they wrapped him up in his 
cloak and placed him on Dapple ; 
and he finally succeeded in joining 
his master, who, attracted by his cries, had 
waited within sight. In the confusion of his 
hurried departure, however, he forgot his 
wallets, which the landlord kept, with their 
contents, as payment for his hospitality. 

Chapter VIL 

\\THEN Sancho rejoined his master, he 
was still so overcome by the ill-treat- 
ment that he had received as to be in a faint 
and dispirited condition ; and Don Quixote, 
noticing this, told him that he was convinced 
that the castle they had just left was en- 
chanted, and that those who had attacked 
him were sprites and goblins. He also de- 
clared that the same enchantment had held 
him powerless while Sancho was being tossed 
in the blanket, since, much as he wished to 
hurry to his succour, he found it impossible 
to move. 

" Could I have but reached you," he con- 
cluded, " I would have done so, and avenged 
you in such a way that they would never 


have forgotten it, whether I, by so doing, 
broke the rules of knight-errantry or not." 

" Knight or no knight, I would have 
avenged myself, had I been able," said Sancho 
ruefully. " But as to enchantments, those 
who misused me seemed to me as much men 
of flesh and blood as ourselves. I am there- 
fore inclined to believe that if your worship 
could not alight nor come to my succour, 
some other reason must be found for it ; all 
which things make me consider that these 
adventures are likely to bring us many 
misadventures, and we should do well to 
give up knight-errantry and return to our 
village. " 

To this proposal Don Quixote replied by 
telling Sancho once more how little he 
understood the matter, and that the day 
would come when he would see for himself 
how great and honourable a thing it was to 
win a mighty battle. 

As they thus conversed, a thick cloud of 
dust appeared on the plain in front, and this 
continued to approach them. Don Quixote 
suddenly saw in this appearance a fulfilment 


of his words, and pointing out the cloud to 
his companion, he told him that here was 
undoubtedly a prodigous army marching in 
their direction. 

" If so," said Sancho, straining his eyes, 
" there must be two, for on this side there 
rises just such another cloud of dust." 

Don Quixote turned, and seeing the truth 
of Sancho's words as to the second cloud of 
dust, he began to rejoice very much ; for 
there seemed little doubt now that when the 
armies met there would be a great battle, 
in which many glorious feats might be per- 

Now Sancho began to tremble, being an 
ignorant man as we have seen, and having 
none of the courage and valour which, in 
spite of his folly, marked Don Quixote as a 
brave and honourable gentleman. 

" O sir ! " he cried, as the clouds of dust 
grew nearer, " what must we do ? ' 

" Do ! " cried Don Quixote ; " why, we 
must at once go to the help of the weaker 
side, of course." 

And now, carried away by the heat of his 


imagination, he began actually to name the 
leaders and principal knights in each army, 
and to describe the different nations repre- 
sented, until it seemed as if two of the 
mightiest armies ever seen were about to 

Sancho listened to this glowing discourse 
open-mouthed, and at last he stammered, — 
" But, sir, not a single one of the knights 
and giants that you have named do I see at 

"How now !" said Don Quixote. "At 
least you must hear the neighing of steeds, 
the sound of trumpets, and the rattling of 

" I hear nothing," said Sancho, 
" but the bleating of many sheep and 

Now this was indeed the case, for 
the clouds of dust had been raised 
by two large flocks of sheep with 
their shepherds going in opposite 
directions ; but though they were 
now close upon him, so fired was 
Don Quixote's imagination with all 


that he had invented, that he failed to see 
what the armies of his description in reality 

" Your fears, Sancho," he said, " prevent 
you from hearing or seeing aright ; but if 
you refuse to follow me to the battle, stand 
aside, and I will go on alone. Soon you will 
see how the valour of my single arm is 
enough to give victory to whichever side I 

" Hold, sir ! come back, I entreat ! What 
madness is this ! They are verily but sheep 
and lambs ! " cried Sancho ; but all in vain. 

Don Quixote set spurs to Rozinante and 
charged into the midst of the sheep. At 
this the frightened animals fled helter-skelter 
in all directions, and the shepherds, seeing 
the cause of their disorder, pursued Don 
Quixote with a shower of such well-aimed 
stones that soon he fell wounded to the 
ground. The shepherds seeing this, and 
being uncertain whether they had killed him 
or not, took fright, and collecting their 
flocks in all haste, soon disappeared. 

" How easily can my enemy the En- 


chanter make things change their form or be- 
come invisible," said Don Quixote to Sancho, 
who now joined him. " If you were to follow 
those sheep but a little way, you would see 
them return to their original shape of knights 
and warriors such as I described to you. But 
now come near to me and tell me how many 
teeth I have lost, for I feel as if hardly one 
were left in my head." 

Sancho, however, stood lost in thought, 
leaning dejectedly on his ass, while the faith- 
ful Rozinante stood patiently waiting by the 
side of his fallen master. 

With some difficulty Don Quixote rose 
unaided and approached his squire, and see- 
ing him thus melancholy he said, — 

" Good Sancho, take comfort. There is 
no cause for you to afflict yourself with the 
mischances that befall me" 

" Perhaps," said Sancho moodily, " it was 
not I but another who was tossed in a blanket 
or who lost the wallets." 

" What ! " said Don Quixote, in dismay, 
" are the wallets lost ? Then we have noth- 
ing to eat." 


" It would be so," said Sancho, " did not 
these fields produce herbs such as you said 
often formed the food of knights." 

" It is true that I said so," replied Don 
Quixote thoughtfully ; " but, nevertheless, I 
would prefer a slice of bread and some salt 
fish just now to all the herbs of creation. 
Let us therefore, brother Sancho, go on our 
way in the hope of discovering refresh- 

Chapter VIII. 

J)ON QUIXOTE and Sancho wandered 
on after this without meeting with 
adventure, or finding anything to appease 
their hunger, until night overtook them ; 
and now, just when they were growing quite 
faint for want of food, they saw moving 
lights in the darkness. 

On perceiving that these belonged to a 
procession of people, Don Quixote charged 
into their midst and demanded their name 
and business. They were, in fact, a harmless 
body of priests and mourners on their way to a 
funeral ; but alarmed at Don Quixote's attack, 
and unable in the darkness to see whether 
he had a large following or not, they fled 
hastily. In the confusion a mule laden with 


provisions was left behind, and Sancho lost 
no time in lightening its load, and having 
made a bag of his cloak, he crammed the 
eatables into it. 

As the last of the procession passed them 
by, Sancho made a remark which was the 
origin of a name henceforth adopted by his 

" If any would fain know the name of the 
champion who routed you," he cried after 
them, " you can say it is the famous Don 
Quixote, the Knight of the Rueful Counte- 
nance. " 

Don Quixote was much struck with this, 
and begged Sancho to explain why he had 
bestowed this name upon him. To which 
Sancho replied, — 

" Indeed, sir, viewed by the torchlight, 
your countenance presents a most rueful ex- 
pression ; but whether from the loss of your 
teeth or the fatigue of your fight, I cannot 

" It is owing to neither," said Don 
Quixote thoughtfully ; "knights of old were 
always known by some such name, and some 


sage has put it in your head to give me 
one. Henceforth let me be known as the 
Knight of the Rueful Countenance." 

They now proceeded on their way until 
they came to a retired and spacious valley, 
which they chose for a resting-place ; and 
seated on the soft grass, they enjoyed the 
ample provisions which Sancho had taken 
from the mule's back. 

The next morning they started forth again, 
and had not gone far when they saw some 
one approaching who presented a curious 
appearance. He was mounted on an ass, 
and on his head was something which glit- 
tered in the bright sunlight as though it 
were made of gold. 

Now Don Quixote had read in romances 
of a Moorish king named Mambrino, who 
possessed an enchanted golden helmet which 
rendered him invulnerable ; and when he 
saw this strange figure approaching, he at 
once jumped to the conclusion that this 
was the famous helmet of which he had 

" Look !" he cried to Sancho, " on yonder 


steed there comes a knight wearing Mam- 
brino's helmet of gold." 

" I only see a man on a common gray 
ass, with something on his head that glitters 
brightly, " said Sancho. 

" But that is Mambrino's helmet," said 
Don Quixote. " Stand aside, that I may 
conclude this adventure single-handed, and 
the helmet which I have often longed to 
possess shall be mine." 

With these words he couched his lance 
and advanced as fast as Rozinante could take 
him against the stranger, crying out as he 
did so, — 

" Defend thyself, caitiff, or instantly 
surrender what is justly my due." 

The stranger was considerably a- 
larmed at this unexpected greeting; 
for he was, in fact, only a barber 
carrying a brass basin such as barbers 
were accustomed at that time to use, 
and which, to save his new hat, he 
had placed upon his head. 

As Don Quixote came nearer, and 
the barber saw the lance pointed at 


him and heard his furious words, he was so 
overcome by fear, that he slid off his ass and 
sped out of sight as fast as his feet would 
take him, leaving the basin behind him in 
his hurry. Of this Don Quixote immedi- 
ately possessed himself; and though he was 
disappointed to find one half of the supposed 
helmet missing, he attributed that to some 
strange mischance or accident, and deter- 
mined to wear it in its incomplete condition. 
Having placed the brass basin on his head 
as a helmet, Don Quixote started off again 
in quest of adventure, beguiling the way as 
he went by telling Sancho many things 
about knight-errantry unknown to him be- 
fore, and describing to him in glowing terms 
the wonderful adventures and glorious re- 
wards which might still lie before them. 

Chapter IX. 

AFTER a while they perceived coming 
towards them, down the road, about a 
dozen men on foot, strung together by the 
necks in a great iron chain, and handcuffed. 
With them went four armed men, two on 
horseback and two on foot. 

" Ah ! " cried Sancho, " this is a chain 
of convicts being sent by the king to the 

" By that you mean that they are forced 
to go, I conclude," said Don Quixote, " and 
do so against their will.' > 

" I mean," said Sancho, " that these are 
persons who, for the crimes they have com- 
mitted, are forced to serve the king at the 


" They, therefore, are forced against their 
will to serve the king," said Don Quixote, tak- 
ing no notice of what Sancho said about their 
crimes; "and I must therefore go to their 
succour, since it is part of my office as knight 
to relieve the wretched and oppressed/' 

" But, sir, my master, good Don Quixote, 
wait, I beseech you," cried Sancho, grasping 
his intention. " I tell you that if the king 
forces those people, it is but to punish them 
for their crimes." 

To this Don Quixote paid no heed, and 
as the galley slaves had now reached him, 
he begged leave of one of those in charge to 
ask them individually the cause of their 

The first one of whom he asked the 
question replied that he was being sent 
to the galleys for being in love. 

" Dear me ! " said Don Quixote, " that 
should not be a serious offence. If it 
is one worthy of punishment, I myself 
might well be sent to the galleys, as I 
am in love with a peerless beauty, the 
Lady Dulcinea of Toboso." 


" Though I say it was for love, it was not 
love of the kind your honour means," said 
the slave, with a twinkle in his eye. " Mine 
was a strong affection for a basket of fine 
linen which did not belong to me, and for 
this they gave me a hundred lashes and sent 
me to the galleys." 

Others of the convicts explained that they 
were being punished for theft of various 
kinds — one that of cattle, and another that 
of money, and so on ; and lastly Don 
Quixote came to one who seemed to be 
treated differently from the rest. 

He was a man of about thirty, and rather 
good-looking except for a bad squint, and 
he was in chains from his neck to his feet, 
fastened in such a way that he could not lift 
his hands to his mouth, nor bend his head to 
his hands. 

Don Quixote asked why this man was 
placed in stronger irons than the rest, and 
was told by the guard that it was because he 
had committed more iniquities than all the 
rest put together. The officer added that 
the name of the convict was Gines de Passa- 

(1,481) 5 


monte, and that he was so bold and desperate 
a villain that special precautions to prevent 
his escape were thought necessary. 

" But, gentlemen," said Don Quixote turn- 
ing his gaze on the guard, " these unfortu- 
nate men have done no wrong against you. 
How do you know that the judge who 
condemned them was not mistaken ? I my- 
self feel convinced that this was so, and I 
therefore beg of you to release them at once. 
I ask this of you in a calm and gentle 
manner ; but if you refuse, this lance and 
sword and the vigour of my arm shall com- 
pel you to do what I request." 

" This is indeed fooling," said one of the 
guards impatiently. " So you would have 
us let the king's prisoners free, as if we had 
power to do so, or you to command it ! 
Stick that basin straight on your noddle, and 
go on your way while we go on ours." 

" You are a cat, and a rat, and a rascal ! ' 
cried Don Quixote, who in his wrath could 
think of no other names bad enough, and at 
the same time he attacked him so suddenly 
that, taken unawares, the man fell wounded 


to the ground. At this, the rest of the 
guards prepared to fall upon Don Quixote, 
who awaited their attack with much calm- 
ness, though he would have had little chance 
against so many. 

Fortunately for him, the convicts took this 
opportunity to break the chain which linked 
them together, and in the confusion which 
followed, the guards had not much oppor- 
tunity of harming Don Quixote. Meanwhile 
Sancho succeeded in freeing Gines de Passa- 
monte, who, falling on the dismounted guard, 
managed to secure his sword and his gun, 
and aided by a shower of stones from the 
rest of the band, he soon cleared the field of 
all the warders. 

Don Quixote then called the slaves around 
him and made them a speech. He reminded 
them of the benefit he had conferred upon 
them by thus freeing them, and in return he 
requested that they should immediately go 
to the town of Toboso and present themselves 
before the Lady Dulcinea, telling her that her 
Knight of the Rueful Countenance had sent 
them to her, and relating all that had passed. 


" This done," he concluded, " you may go 
wherever you will." 

To this Gines de Passamonte replied 
that it was quite impossible, for the greatest 
danger they could run would be to be seen 
together on the road, and that to start in 
company in broad daylight on the high- 
way would be to put themselves back in 

This refusal of his request excited Don 
Quixote to a fury of wrath, on seeing which 
Gines gave a sign to the others, and they 
one and all began to pelt him with stones 
to such an extent that at last he fell off 
Rozinante. They then tore the brass basin 
from his head and beat him with it until 
its shape was lost, and stripped him of a 
jacket which he wore over his armour. From 
Sancho they also took a cloak, and then fled 
with their spoil, leaving a melancholy group 
behind — the ass quiet and pensive, every 
now and then shaking his head from a fresh 
imaginary shower of stones ; Rozinante lying 
by his master, knocked down as he had been 
by the onslaught ; and Don Quixote ex- 


tremely out of humour at the treatment he 
and his squire had experienced. 

Soon after this Don Quixote's second 
journey in quest of adventures came to an 
end, and still bearing marks of the battle on 
their persons, he and Sancho returned to their 
native village for a time. 

Here he was received with joyful 
welcome by his niece and housekeeper, 
who tended him carefully, for the 
knight was weary as well as damaged 
by his rough life and many encounters ; 
and the two women kept a vigilant 
watch, lest he should again escape 
from them, and start forth in quest 
of new adventures. 

Their fears on this account were 
fully justified, as will soon be seen. 

Chapter X. 

AS soon as Don Quixote had somewhat 
recovered from his fatigue and injuries, 
he contrived to have an interview with 
Sancho. In the course of their talk that 
worthy informed him that a certain resident 
in the village, whose name was Samson 
Carrasco, had recently returned from his 
studies at the university, and that he had 
told Sancho how he had read of all Don 
Quixote's adventures recorded in printed 

This filled Don Quixote with so much 
interest and surprise that Sancho set off in 
search of the student, and returned with him 
to his master. Much conversation ensued, 
in which Samson told Don Quixote that it 


was quite true that he had read of his ex- 
ploits, and much delighted him by referring 
to many of them in very flattering terms. So 
much, indeed, was Don Quixote pleased at 
the praise which Samson bestowed on him, 
and the high renown in which he found 
himself held by that gentleman, that he took 
him quite into his confidence, and it was 
with his support and encouragement that he 
now arranged to start forth again with 
Sancho in quest of fresh adventures. 

Samson, moreover, undertook to supply 
Don Quixote with a proper helmet, which 
he obtained from a friend, and which, though 
covered with mould and rust, was at least 
whole. Don Quixote's niece and housekeeper 
made a great display of grief when they found 
him again preparing for departure ; but their 
lamentations had no power to withhold him, 
and late one evening he started forth on 
Rozinante, followed by Sancho on Dapple, 
and accompanied for the first part of the 
way by his new friend Samson. 

The immediate object of the present jour- 
ney was the city of Toboso, where Don 


Quixote vowed to present himself to his Lady 
Dulcinea before proceeding further, and 
thither they accordingly proceeded when they 
had parted with Samson. 

Now when they reached Toboso it was 
night time, and the whole town was wrapt 
in sleep. Nevertheless, such was Don 
Quixote's impatience to draw near his lady 
that he bade Sancho lead him at once to her 

In reply to this order Sancho gazed 
stupidly at his master and said, — 

cc What palace does your worship mean ? 
When last I saw her she was in a mean 
little house." 

" If that were so," said Don Quixote, 
" you must have come across her in some 
small apartment of her palace, for surely a 
lady so exalted as Dulcinea could only in- 
habit some very noble building. And look 
— if my eyes deceive me not, yonder huge 
pile must be her castle." 

" Well, then, lead on," said Sancho, " and 
let us prove if it be so." 

So, leading their stumbling animals as best 


they could in the thick darkness, they drew 
close to the huge building, to find on inspec- 
tion that, instead of being a castle, it was the 
principal church of the place. 

Don Quixote, sorely discomfited at this 
failure, was now helpless as to what further 
course to take, and assented readily when 
Sancho proposed that he should retire to a 
wood outside the town and wait there until 
dawn, while Sancho himself scoured the 
place, hoping to bring him the tidings for 
which he yearned as to the dwelling-place of 
his lady. 

So Don Quixote spent the rest of the 
night meditating in the wood, and Sancho 
set out alone. The rough fellow's under- 
standing had been considerably sharpened 
since he first accepted his present post of 
squire, and before very long he thought of 
a scheme to outwit his master by playing 
on that very fancy which had converted so 
many commonplace things into romantic 
ones, and at the same time to satisfy his mind 
and save himself from being sent on fruitless 
journeys in search of Dulcinea. 


He spent the night comfortably resting 
not far from where he had left Don Quixote, 
instead of searching Toboso as his master 
fondly imagined he was doing ; and in the 
early hours of the morning he espied three 
country girls coming from the town each 
mounted on an ass. The cunning fellow 
immediately hastened to Don Quixote, on 
perceiving whom he cried, — 

" Sir, you have but to mount Rozinante 
and hasten to the plain, and you will see the 
Lady Dulcinea herself, who, with a couple 
of her damsels, is coming to pay you a visit." 

Then, as Don Quixote hesitated for a 
moment, hardly able to believe such good 
tidings, Sancho gave further rein to his 

" In truth 'tis herself," he cried, " and 
never did these eyes behold so gorgeous a 
spectacle. The princess our mistress, Dul- 
cinea herself, and even her damsels are one 
blaze of flaming gold, decked with diamonds, 
rubies, pearls, and other precious stones ; 
their hair is loose upon their shoulders like 
so many sunbeams blown upon by the wind ; 


and, what is more, they are mounted on three 
pied belfreys." 

" Palfreys thou meanest, Sancho," cor- 
rected Don Quixote. 

" Well, no matter ; there is surely not 
much difference between belfrey and palfrey," 
said Sancho. " But hasten, I entreat, or you 
will be too late to meet the lady." 

They now left the wood, and soon saw the 
three country girls close upon them. 

" I only see three country girls on three 
asses," said Don Quixote, with a puzzled air, 
as Sancho pointed them out. 

" Now by my life," said Sancho, " you 
would not have me believe that you do not 
see the Lady Dulcinea in all her 
splendour, mounted on a snow-white 
bel — I mean palfrey." 

So gazing, he advanced to one of 
the country girls, and laying hold of 
her ass by its halter, he went down 
on his knees and began an extrava- 
gant speech to her, in which he 
called her the peerless beauty, Lady 
Dulcinea, and introduced himself and 


Don Quixote, the Knight of the Rueful 

Don Quixote had now joined him and 
fallen on his knees, though he still regarded 
the country girl and her ass with a very 
puzzled expression. But when the girl re- 
plied to Sancho with a rough accent, and 
bade him and Don Quixote move out of 
their way and let them go on, the knight 
had no longer any doubts as to what had 
actually happened, and turning to Sancho 
he explained that the evil fortune which had 
persecuted him with so many enchantments 
had added one more, and by casting a spell 
over his senses caused him to see only a 
common rustic instead of the lady of his 

The girl herself burst into mocking laughter 
and told Don Quixote to stop his " idle 
gibberish," for such his speech seemed to 
her, and the next minute she pricked up her 
ass with a sharp-pointed stick to make him 
go on, away from the two men. But the 
beast, unaccustomed to such usage, began to 
plunge and kick to such an extent that down 


came the supposed Lady Dulcinea to the 

Don Quixote hastened forward, proud of 
the opportunity to render her assistance, but 
he was not in time ; for with a little run 
and a jump, she succeeded unaided in regain- 
ing her seat on the ass's back, and the next 
minute she and her companions were off at 
full speed across the plain. 

Thus ended Don Quixote's encounter with 
the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, and he and 
Sancho now proceeded in the direction of 
Saragossa, the knight filled with melancholy 
at the evil fate which had prevented him 
from really beholding his lady, even when 
in her presence, and Sancho hardly able to 
control his mirth at the success of his de- 

Chapter XL 

T3EFORE the knight and his squire had 
gone far in the direction of Saragossa, 
they came across a cart which was filled with 
the strangest looking company imaginable. 
The first figure that caught Don Quixote's 
eye was that of a skeleton with a human 
face, and next to this he saw an angel with 
large painted wings ; on the other side again 
was an emperor wearing a golden crown, and 
at his feet a Cupid with bow and arrows. 
There were also a knight wearing a large hat 
with plumes of divers colours, and several 
other people strangely attired. 

Such an unusual company could not fail 
to waylay Don Quixote and raise hopes of 
adventure, and passing by the cart he com- 



manded the driver to tell him on the instant 
who they were. 

To this the driver, who was himself dis- 
guised as an angel of darkness, explained that 
they were but a company of strolling players 
on their way to perform at a village near by ; 
and Don Quixote, disappointed of his peril- 
ous adventure, bade them go on their way 
in peace, adding that as he had always been 
a great admirer of play-acting, he should be 
glad if any possibility of his render- 
ing them service should arise. 

At this moment one of the players, 
who was dressed as a jester, came 
close up to Rozinante and flourished 
under his nose three bladders tied to 
a stick, which so scared the poor 
beast that he started off at such a 
pace that his master lost all control 
over him. Sancho, seeing his danger, 
leapt on Dapple and hurried after f 
him, to arrive just as Rozinante, ex- 
hausted with his efforts, sank to the 
ground — the usual result of any extra 
exertion on his part. Sancho alighted 


to help his fallen master ; but ere he reached 
him, the actor jumped on Dapple and thumped 
him with the bladders, which so frightened 
the ass that he too took to his heels and went 
flying over the field. At this sight Sancho 
was sorely torn in two between his love for 
his ass and his duty to his master ; but his 
affection and loyalty to Don Quixote pre- 
vailed, and he approached him instead of 
hurrying after Dapple. 

" Sir," he said to him, as he helped him 
to remount Rozinante, " the devil has run 
away with my ass." 

" What devil ? " asked Don Quixote. 

" He with the bladders," replied Sancho. 

" I will recover him though he should 
hide himself in the deepest of his dungeons," 
said Don Quixote valiantly ; but at the same 
moment they saw that it was not necessary 
for the words to take effect, for the same 
fate overtook Dapple and his rider as Rozi- 
nante and his, and the fallen angel being 
thrown, the mischievous imp left the ass and 
proceeded merrily on foot. But Don Quixote 
was not satisfied with the recovery of Dapple ; 



a desire for vengeance now took possession 
of him, and he hurried after the cart con- 
taining the players, and bade it halt while 
he showed them how to treat the cattle of 

The players immediately stopped the cart, 
and out jumped the driver, the emperor, the 
skeleton, and the Cupid, and arming them- 
selves with stones stood ready to meet 
Don Quixote in battle array. 

An encounter likely to end ill for 
the intrepid knight would now surely 
have taken place, had it not been for 
the timely advice of Sancho, who, 
filled with alarm for his master's 
safety, entreated him to desist, point- 
ing out the danger of blows from 
stones, and the folly of one man alone 
attacking an army. 

These arguments were in them- 
selves powerless to prevail, but when 
the wily Sancho pointed out that in 
spite of their impressive appearance 
there was not a single real knig] 
company, and therefore none worthy 

(1,481) 6 




Don Quixote to meet in battle, the knight 
admitted that there was force in what he 

He had the best of the discussion, how- 
ever, for the same argument could not apply 
in the case of Sancho, who was himself un- 
knighted, and he suggested that he should 
be the one to avenge the theft of his ass. 
But Sancho was always of a most charitable 
frame of mind when his own courage was 
called into request, and he now assured his 
master that since Christians should never 
avenge injuries, he was willing to exercise 
a forgiving spirit and not pursue the matter 

" Let us, then, leave these phantoms," said 
Don Quixote, " in search of better and more 
profitable adventure," and wheeling Rozi- 
nante round, he turned in the opposite 
direction. Sancho gladly followed him on 
Dapple, and the players returned to their 
cart and pursued their way in peace. 

Chapter XII. 


T^HE two travellers spent that night in 
a wood, where Don Quixote slept be- 
neath a branching oak, and Sancho at the 
foot of a cork tree. 

Don Quixote had not, however, slept for 
long when he was startled by a souncj near 
to him, and on looking cautiously in the 
direction whence it came, he perceived two 
men on horseback, one of whom dismounted, 
and addressing the other said,— 

" Alight, friend, and unbridle the horses, 
for this place will afford them pasture and 
give me the quiet resting-place I desire." 

As he spoke he flung himself on the 
ground with a clang of armour, and Don 
Quixote, recognizing from the sound that 


here was another knight-errant, hastened to 
wake Sancho and impart the news. As they 
conversed, there fell on their ears the sound 
of an instrument being tuned, and the next 
moment the new arrival began to sing a love 
ditty in a plaintive voice to his own accom- 
paniment. At the end he gave a deep sigh 
and exclaimed, — 

" O divine Casildea de Vandalia ! how 
long wilt thou suffer thy captive knight to 
consume and pine away ? Is it not enough 
that I have caused thee to be acknowledged 
the most consummate beauty in the world 
by all the knights of La Mancha ? " 

" Not so," said Don Quixote, in an indig- 
nant whisper to Sancho. " Am I not of 
La Mancha, and shall I allow precedence 
over my Lady Dulcinea ? " 

The stranger knight, hearing voices near 
him, now called out, — 

" Who goes there ? What are ye ? Are 
ye of the happy or afflicted ? " 

" Of the afflicted," promptly replied Don 

<c Come to me, then," said the knight, 


" and you will find sorrow and misery 

At this Don Quixote came forward and 
took the knight's hand in amity, and much 
pleasant conversation ensued, until the Knight 
of the Wood (as we will now call him) made 
the astounding statement that he had van- 
quished the renowed knight Don Quixote 
de la Mancha, and made him confess that 
Casildea was more beautiful than Dulcinea. 

This was, of course, more than Don 
Quixote could allow to pass, and having first 
disputed the statement, he proceeded to ex- 
plain to the other that it must have been 
a counterfeit knight who was overthrown, 
since the real Don Quixote was there before 
him, and could answer for it he had never 
even engaged with him in combat. 

The result of the dispute was that they 
agreed to fight as soon as daylight appeared. 
Meanwhile the two attendant squires had 
made friends and spent the night together 
not far from their masters, and when the 
sun began to rise and his first rays lighted 
on his companion, great was Sancho's sur- 


prise to discover how strange an appear- 
ance he presented. For his nose was so 
enormous that it seemed to overshadow 
his whole face, and was more like a 
hawk's beak than a man's nasal organ. 
Moreover, it was bright red in hue, and 
when to this was added the horror of 
a crooked shape, the whole rilled Sancho 
with so much dread that he began to 
tremble from head to foot. 

Don Quixote would also have be- 
held his antagonist's countenance by the 
light of day, but this he could not do as 
his beaver was down so as to conceal his 

The time for their encounter having now 
come, the knights mounted their steeds ; but 
Sancho, scared by the sight of the squire's 
long nose, rushed behind Rozinante and 
implored Don Quixote to help him to climb 
into the cork tree, since he dared not be left 
alone with the monster while his master 
fought. Don Quixote, who had by this time 
also seen the extraordinary nose, admitted 
that the sight was enough to inspire fear 


in any one of less stout a courage than him- 
self, and helped Sancho into the tree. 

Meanwhile the Knight of the Wood had 
turned about his horse, which was not a whit 
more active than Rozinante, and was advan- 
cing towards his enemy ; but seeing him 
engaged with Sancho, he came to a 
standstill. At the same moment Don 
Quixote, thinking that his enemy was 
coming full speed against him, set 
spurs to Rozinante, and for once that 
animal started off almost at a gallop. 
The other horse stood his ground, 
and, in spite of all his rider did to 
try to urge him on, refused to 
move an inch. In consequence, 
Don Quixote came full tilt against 
him with his lance and brought 
him to the ground. 

Sancho, on seeing what had happened, 
came down with all speed from the tree, 
while his master, who had alighted from 
Rozinante, hurried up to the vanquished 
knight and unlaced his helmet to see if he 
were alive or dead, and to give him air, 


when he saw — But who shall relate what 
he saw, so amazing and wonderful was it ? He 
saw, as a matter of fact, incredible though 
it may seem, in the face of the knight the 
very features, aspect, and physiognomy of 
Samson Carrasco of La Mancha ! 

At the same moment the knight's squire, 
seeing Don Quixote standing over his master 
with his sword at his throat, rushed to him 
in terror, crying, — 

" Have a care, Signor Quixote, what you 
do, for it is indeed Samson Carrasco, your 
friend and neighbour, and I am his squire." 

" The nose ! ' cried Sancho, " where is 
the nose ? " 

For on turning to the speaker he saw that 
he no longer bore that monstrous appendage 
which had filled him with terror. 

" Here it is," said the other, taking a 
pasteboard nose from his pocket ; and Sancho, 
now looking at him again, exclaimed, — 

" Upon my soul, is not this Tom Cecial, 
my neighbour ? " 

" No other," was the reply. "Tom Cecial 
I am indeed/' 


The fallen knight, Samson Carrasco, now 
began to recover consciousness, whereupon 
Don Quixote, holding his sword to his throat, 
told him he were a dead man unless he at 
once declared that the Lady Dulcinea del 
Toboso was the most beautiful woman in 
the whole world, and far excelled the Lady 
Casildea de Vandalia. 

" I confess," said Samson, " that even the 
Lady Dulcinea's torn and dirty shoe is pre- 
ferable to the clean locks of Casildea." 

Don Quixote next insisted that he should 
declare that the knight whom he had previ- 
ously vanquished was only a counterfeit of 
Don Quixote himself, and to this too Sam'son 
willingly assented, as he would have done 
to anything his enemy proposed. For the 
trick he had thought to play on Don Quixote 
had now turned sorely to his own disadvan- 
tage, and he was longing to find an apothe- 
cary to administer remedies for the bruises 
with which he ached. 

Don Quixote was now, however, satisfied, 
and suffered the knight to rise and depart 
with his squire, though still holding to the 


belief that he had been deceived in thinking 
that he was really Samson Carrasco, and that 
his assuming the appearance of that gentle- 
man was but one more evidence of enchant- 

Chapter XIIL 

J)ON QUIXOTE proceeded on his jour- 
ney filled with pleasure and satisfaction 
at the thought of his recent victory, and a 
further piece of good fortune soon befell 
him. For as he rode on his way he was 
overtaken by a gentleman mounted on a fine 
mare, and dressed in a green cloth riding- 
coat faced with murrey-coloured velvet, who 
was carrying a Moorish scimitar hanging 
from his belt, which was of green and gold. 
He saluted Don Quixote courteously, and 
they rode on together, as they seemed bound 
in the same direction, with the result that 
the stranger, whose name proved to be Don 
Diego, became so much struck with Don 
Quixote's conversation and the history of his 


knight-errantry that he invited him to spend 
a few days with him at his country house. 
But before this visit took place, an adventure 
befell Don Quixote which was one of the 
most thrilling he ever encountered, and in 
which he displayed a courage and heedless- 
ness of personal danger which were in truth 
little short of amazing. 

As they rode on there appeared in the 
distance what seemed to be a wagon set 
around with little flags, and at the sight of 
this Don Quixote prepared himself for battle, 
making sure that it must be the sign of 
approaching adventure. When he drew 
nearer, it proved indeed to be a 
wagon or car ornamented with the 
colours of the King of Spain, and 
Don Quixote planted himself before 
it and demanded of the wagoner 
where he was going, on whose busi- 
ness, and what he had in the car. 

" The wagon is my own," replied 
the man, " and it contains two brave 
lions which the General of Oran is 
sending as a present to the king." 


" Are the lions large ? " asked Don 

" Very," was the reply. " Bigger ones 
never came from Africa. They are also 
very fierce, for they have eaten nothing to- 
day. Therefore, good sir, I pray you get 
out of the way, for we must hasten to the 
place where we are to feed them." 

This ought to have satisfied any one, but 
not so Don Quixote. Undismayed by what 
he heard as to the lions* size and fierceness, 
he now declared that he would show himself 
equal to any lions, and ordered their keeper 
to open the door of their cage. In vain did 
Sancho and Don Diego expostulate and seek 
to deter him from so mad an undertaking. 
They were powerless to do so, and their very 
arguments as to the danger served but to 
incite Don Quixote the more. 

" Sirrah ! " he cried to the keeper, " open 
the cage door, or I will certainly pin thee to 
the wagon with my lance." 

The unfortunate wagoner, seeing no way 
of escape from Don Quixote's orders, now 
asked permission to remove out of danger 


the mules which drew the wagon. This 
was at once accorded. 

Don Diego and Sancho, having made one 
more fruitless attempt to dissuade Don 
Quixote, now retired to a place of safety- 
near by, and Don Quixote, having dis- 
mounted from Rozinante, advanced sword 
in hand to the door of the cage. 

The keeper, trembling with apprehension, 
unfastened the door ; for though he did not 
think the beasts within would touch him 
whom they knew and by whom they were 
fed, he felt no such confidence in their con- 
duct to a stranger. As he slowly opened 
the door of the first cage, a great lion of 
fierce aspect slowly rose, stretched himself, 
gave an enormous' yawn, licked the dust off 
his face, and stared out of the door with eyes 
like burning coals. 

Such a sight was enough to strike even a 
brave heart with fear, but Don Quixote stood 
ready sword in hand, waiting with eager 
anticipation for the lion's first spring. For 
a few minutes they stood thus — the lion 
staring out above Don Quixote's head with 


his fiery eyes, and Don Quixote standing 
motionless with his drawn sword in his hand. 
Then without taking any notice of his adver- 
sary, the lion calmly turned his back on him 
and lay down in his cage. 

Don Quixote now called to the keeper to 
rouse him with a pole, but this the keeper 
very wisely refused to do. He also had the 
wit to point out to Don Quixote that the 
honour of the encounter could rightly be 
claimed by him, since the lion had refused 
his challenge. 

Don Quixote was so much struck with 
this argument that he ordered the cage doors 
to be closed again, and tying a handkerchief 
on the top of his lance, he waved it to his 
companions as a sign of his victory. Sancho 
and Don Diego came hurrying out from their 
hiding-place in response, and the keeper 
gave them a somewhat embellished account 
of all that had occurred, dwelling especially 
on the point that the lion had been so terri- 
fied that he durst not leave the cage. 

Don Quixote, much pleased with the 
whole adventure, now ordered Sancho to 


pay the wagoner for the time they had 
wasted, and as he bade him farewell he told 
him that if the king asked who had 
performed this valiant deed, he should 
say it was the Knight of the Lions, as 
he intended to style himself by this title 
in future. 

Don Quixote in the enchanted boat. 

Chapter XIV. 


QON QUIXOTE spent four days very 
pleasantly at the country-seat of Don 
Diego, who introduced the knight to his 
wife and his son, and treated him with great 
consideration ; while Sancho, for his part, 
greatly enjoyed the comfortable quarters and 
good cheer which were his portion. But 
the knight's spirit of enterprise would not 
allow him to rest longer in idleness, and at 
the end of this time he bade farewell to 
his kind entertainers, and started forth with 
Sancho in search of fresh adventures. 

After travelling for some days the river 
Ebro was reached, and Don Quixote was 
filled with pleasure as he contemplated its 
verdant banks and the clear smoothly flowing 

(1,481) 7 


waters. And now, to add to his delight, he 
perceived on the surface of the river a small 
boat secured to a tree, and containing 
no oars or tackle of any kind ; and as 
there was no one within sight, he im- 
mediately sprang into it, commanding 
Sancho to tether the two beasts se- 
curely to a tree on the bank and to 
follow him. 

" You must know," he explained, 
" that this boat lies here for the ex- 
press purpose of bidding me embark 
and hasten to the succour of some 
person in distress ; for such is the 
- manner in which things are arranged 
in knight-errantry. " 

Sancho felt compelled to obey, though it 
went sorely against his will to do so, and 
after fastening Rozinante and Dapple to a tree, 
he too entered the boat, whereupon Don 
Quixote at once cut the rope which bound 
it, and they began to glide down-stream. 

On finding themselves actually afloat, 
Sancho's fears, combined with grief at leav- 
ing the two animals behind, could no longer 


be restrained, and he began to weep bitterly, 
and to cry between his sobs, — 

" Dapple brays, bemoaning our departure, 
and the faithful Rozinante would fain get 
loose, to throw himself into the river after 
us. Alas ! would that we were safely back 
on shore. " 

" Peace ! " cried Don Quixote ; " of what 
art thou afraid ? " 

And as Sancho's tears did not cease, he 
continued in tones of contempt, — 

" O cowardly creature ! O heart of butter ! 
Who pursues thee, who hurts thee, O soul of a 
house-rat ? Art thou trudging barefoot over 
mountain passes that you complain ? Nay, 
thou art seated on a bench like an archduke, 
gliding smoothly down this charming river, 
whence we shall shortly issue out into the 
boundless ocean." 

Meanwhile the boat continued to glide 
smoothly down the river borne by the gentle 
current, and now at a sudden turn they saw 
a large watermill before them. Don Quix- 
ote pointed this out to Sancho with triumph- 
ant excitement. 


" Behold, my friend, behold ! " he cried, 
" yonder is the very castle in which lan- 
guishes some princess for whose relief I am 
brought hither." 

The boat, drawn by the current from the 
mill, now began to move faster, and the 
miller, seeing it come thus adrift, and know- 
ing the danger it ran of being sucked into 
the mill-stream, came in haste to stop it, ac- 
companied by his men with long poles. As 
their faces and clothing were partly covered 
with flour, they presented a rather strange 
appearance, and Don Quixote was sure that 
in them he saw some of the hobgoblins or 
evil beings who guarded the castle. 

The millers, alarmed for the safety of the 
boat and its occupants, shouted and yelled 
to the knight ; and in reply Don Quixote 
stood up, and waving his sword in the air, 
shouted back, — 

" Ill-meaning scoundrels ! I command you 
to set at liberty whoever it is that is im- 
prisoned in the fortress. For know that I 
am Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise 
known as the Knight of the Lions. " 


The miller and his men were too 
much engaged in trying to stop the 
boat in its perilous course to pay much 
attention to these wild words, and they 
now succeeded in seizing it with their 
poles ; but in the act of stopping the 
boat they overturned it, and Don Quixote 
and Sancho were plunged into the river. 
It was fortunate that they knew how to 
swim ; but even though this was the case, 
Don Quixote was twice dragged to the 
bottom by the weight of his armour, and 
but for the millers, who threw themselves 
into the water to his rescue, he would 
probably have been drowned. 

While they were recovering their breath 
on the bank, the fisherman who owned the 
boat came up to claim damages, as it had 
been crushed to pieces by the mill-wheel ; 
and as there seemed no other course, Don 
Quixote ordered Sancho to pay him fifty 
reals out of his small capital, and turning 
once more to the mill, before he left it, he 
cried, — 

" Friend, whosoever thou art enclosed in 


that prison, pardon me that through my ill- 
fortune I cannot rescue you ; this adventure 
is evidently reserved for some other knight." 
Then slowly and sadly he and Sancho 
turned back to where they had left their 

Chapter XV. 

HTHE day following that of the adventure 
of the boat, as Don Quixote and 
Sancho quitted a wood they came upon an 
open meadow, at the far end of which was a 
little group of persons engaged in the pastime 
of hawking. Among them was a lady of 
fair aspect, clad in rich raiment of green, and 
seated on a milk-white palfrey, and on her 
left wrist she carried a hawk. Don Quixote, 
satisfied from these signs that she must be 
some one of high rank, said to Sancho, — 

" Hasten, Sancho, to that fair lady, and 
tell her that I, the Knight of the Lions, 
salute her resplendent beauty ; and if her 
highness give me leave, I will wait upon 
her to kiss her hands and to serve her to the 
utmost of my power." 


Sancho did as he was bidden, and kneel- 
ing before the lady, said, — 

" Beauteous lady, yonder knight, called the 
Knight of the Lions, is my master, and I 
am his squire, called Sancho Panza when at 
home. This same Knight of the Lions 
desires that your grandeur would be pleased 
to give leave that he may serve your high- 
towering falconry and beauty. " 

The lady smiled most amiably on receiv- 
ing this message, and replied, — 

" Is not this master of yours one named 
Don Quixote de la Mancha, of whose ad- 
ventures and of whose lady, Dulcinea del 
Toboso, there is already an account in 
print ? " 

Sancho replied that it was so. 

" Then rise, friend," continued the lady, 
" and tell your master that I and the duke 
are at his service in a country-seat we have 
near here, and that nothing could have 
happened to give me greater pleasure than 
his arrival." 

Sancho hastened to his master with this 
friendly message, while the duchess ex- 


plained to her husband the duke what had 
happened, with many sly and merry glances; 
for, being of a frolicsome nature, she hoped 
to have much amusement out of Don 
Quixote and his knight-errantry. 

Don Quixote, however, ignorant, of course, 
of any intention than what appeared, now 
drew near to the lady, and prepared to salute 
her with great deference ; and after exchange 
of courtesies, they all set out together to ride 
to the duke's castle. 

Sancho, at the request of the duchess, 
kept close to her, for her sense of humour 
was greatly tickled by the uncouth utterance 
and rugged philosophy of the squire ; and 
Sancho, encouraged by her condescension, 
became more eloquent than usual, and gave 
rein to a running discourse interspersed with 
various homely proverbs of which he pos- 
sessed a stock, and which he introduced with 
more readiness than point. 

Before they reached the castle, the duke 
rode on in front of them to bid the servants 
prepare a suitable reception for their guests ; 
and in consequence, no sooner had they 


entered the courtyard than two fair damsels 
appeared and threw a long mantle of fine 
scarlet cloth over Don Quixote's shoulders, 
while at this signal a crowd of men and 
women in the duke's employ appeared in the 
galleries above and shouted, — 

" Welcome, the flower and cream of 
knight-errantry ! " 

At the same time bottles of scented water 
were sprinkled by them on to the persons of 
the knight, the duke, and the duchess. 

All this was mightily pleasing to Don 
Quixote, since it proved to him that his 
vaunted knight-errantry was a real 
and recognized thing ; and further 
proof of this now awaited him. He 
was led up a stately staircase hung 
with rich gold brocade, and then into 
a large hall, where six young damsels 
proceeded to divest him of his armour. 
When this was done, he drew the 
scarlet cloak over his shoulders, buckled 
on his sword and belt, placed a green 
velvet cap, which they handed to him, 
on his head, and thus accoutred was 


led with much pomp to an apartment where 
a table was laid for four people. 

The four places were occupied by Don 
Quixote, the duke and duchess, and the 
duke's chaplain, a very solemn ecclesiastic, 
who regarded Don Quixote with little fa- 
vour. Sancho was present in attendance on 
his master ; but so much was the duchess 
taken with him, that she did not treat him 
like an inferior, and encouraged him to join 
freely in the conversation. This he did to 
suchl an extent that after a while Don 
Quixote became annoyed, and to divert his 
mind the duchess asked what news he had 
of Dulcinea, or how many giants and robbers 
he had sent her lately as trophies. 

" Alas ! madam," he answered, " you now 
touch on my sad misfortunes. I have van- 
quished giants, elves, and cut-throats, but 
where can I find Dulcinea ? Sad to say, 
she is enchanted, and now bears the form 
and features of one of the ugliest of country 
wenches imaginable." 

" Have you too seen her enchanted f ' 
asked the duke of Sancho. 


" Seen her ! " said Sancho ; " I should 
think I have. To my mind she is one 
of the most spritely wenches I know. 
Why, I assure you, Sir Duke, that I saw 
her vault on to her ass's back as nimbly as 
a cat." 

The chaplain had listened in silence so far 
to this strange discourse, but he now broke 
in angrily. 

" My lord," he said to the duke, " you 
will have a large account to pay some day 
for encouraging this folly;" and turning to 
Don Quixote, he reproved him in no meas- 
ured terms for his fantastic ideas, declaring 
that there were no such things existing in 
Spain as knight-errantry, or giants, or elves, 
or enchanted ladies, and that he who pro- 
fessed to believe in them was a fool and an 

Up sprang Don Quixote at this, quivering 
with indignation, and addressed the chaplain 
in a speech of great length, in the course of 
which he pointed out that he was expressing 
opinions on a subject of which he knew 


" I am a knight," he said, " and a knight 
I will die. Some choose the high road of 
haughty ambition, others the low ways ot 
base, servile flattery ; a third sort take the 
crooked path of deceitful hypocrisy, and a few 
that of true religion. I, for my part, follow 
the narrow path of knight-errantry, and for 
this I despise riches and hold only honour 
dear. My intentions are all virtuous and 
to do no man harm, but good to all the 

The high aims expressed in this speech 
could not be gainsaid, and Sancho, pleased 
at the impression made by it, called out, 
" Well said, truly," and thus attracted the 
attention of the chaplain, who now, turning 
on him, said, — 

" I warrant you are none other than 
Sancho Panza, to whom it is said that your 
master promised an island to govern." 

" Ay, marry I am," said Sancho ; " and I 
deserve it as well as any one, for I am one of 
those of whom they say, ' Keep with good 
men and thou shalt be one of them ; ' t Lean 
against a good tree and it will shelter thee.' 


I have leaned and kept close to a good master 
for many a month ; and if we both live, he 
shall not lack kingdoms, nor I islands to 

" Thou shalt not, Sancho," cried the duke, 
" for I myself, on Don Quixote's account, 
will place thee as governor over an island of 
my own." 

" Sancho," cried Don Quixote, " dost 
hear what this most noble gentleman prom- 
ises ? Down on your knees and kiss his feet 
for this favour." 

While Sancho grovelled on the ground at 
the feet of the duke, the chaplain, unable 
longer to control himself in the pres- 
ence of such absurdity, rose, and 
leaving his unfinished repast, hast- 
ened in wrath from the room. 

In spite of these interruptions, the 
meal was at length ended, and when 
the table was left, Don Quixote re- 
tired to take an afternoon sleep ; but 
Sancho, who would have done like- 
wise, was requested by the duchess, 
if he were not too sleepy, to spend 


the afternoon with her and her women ; for 
the truth was, that the amusement afforded 
to her by the unconscious wit of the honest 
squire was so great, that she wished to in- 
dulge in it as long as possible. 

Chapter XVL 

l HE duchess made Sancho sit close beside 
her on a low stool ; and though his 
good manners prompted him to stand in her 
presence, she would not hear of his doing 
so, but told him she wished him to sit in 
right of a governor, in reference to the 
appointment promised to him by the duke, 
but at the same time to talk as a squire. 
And first she asked him to satisfy her mind 
on one or two points which had puzzled her 
in reading the history of Don Quixote's 
earlier exploits, which, as before stated, had 
already found their way into print. 

Sancho did not immediately reply to these 
inquiries. He first rose, and with very soft 
step and finger on his lips he crept round 


Don Quixote dines with the duke. 



the room lifting the tapestry hangings so as 
to make sure that there was no one hiding 
behind them. Having satisfied himself on 
this point, he returned to his seat and ad- 
dressed the duchess in a low voice. 

" Now that I am sure that there is no one 
in hiding to hear us," he said, " I will answer 
your duchess-ship without fear. And, first, 
I must tell you a great secret, and that is 
that I look upon my master Don Quixote as 
downright mad, although at times his dis- 
course is most wonderfully clear and well 
reasoned. Now being convinced, as I say, 
that he is mad, it is no difficult task to make 
him believe anything, such as the 
enchantment of the Lady Dulcinea, 
who is, in truth, no more enchanted 
than my own father." 

" Dear me," said the duchess, " all 
this is mightily interesting. I entreat 
you, Sancho, to give me the full ac- f 
count of this supposed enchantment." 

Sancho proceeded to do so, and at 
the end of his story the duchess said, — 

" Now it seems to me, my friend, 

(1,481) 8 


that if this Don Quixote be in truth a fool 
and a madman, since his squire is aware 
of this and yet follows him, he must be 
more mad and a greater fool than his master. 
Nor do I see how such an one is to govern 
an island, since he who knows not how to 
govern himself knows not how to govern 

" By my faith," said Sancho, " what your 
highness says is every whit the truth, and if 
I had been wise I should have ceased long 
ago to follow my master. But I can do no 
otherwise. Follow him I must. We are 
both of the same village ; I have eaten his 
bread ; I love him, he treats me with kind- 
ness ; and, above all, I am faithful to him, and 
nothing but death shall part us. If, there- 
fore, your highness thinks it were not fitting 
that the governorship of the island be given 
to me, well and good. I was, in truth, born 
of humble degree, and the not having it 
may redound to the benefit of my conscience. 
In truth of which there are many proverbs, 
such as, ' They make as good bread here as 
in France ; ' and, c In the dark all cats are 


gray ; ' and, c The Pope's body takes no more 
space than the sexton's ; ' and, ' All is not 
gold that glitters.' " 

It seemed that Sancho, once started on 
proverbs, might have gone on with a hundred, 
had not the duchess interrupted him. 

" Honest Sancho," she said, " know well 
that the promise of a knight is always kept, 
and the duke my lord, though not of the 
errant order, is in truth a knight, and will 
therefore keep his word as to the promised 
island. Be of good cheer, my Sancho ! 
When you least think of it, you shall find 
yourself seated in the chair of state. Only 
take heed how you govern your vassals, as 
they are all persons of good descent and well- 
tested loyalty." 

After some further conversation the duchess 
bade Sancho seek his deferred rest. Where- 
upon the worthy fellow kissed her hand, and 
before leaving her, begged as a special favour 
that great care should be taken of Dapple. 

" That you may safely leave to me," said 
the duchess, having first ascertained who 
and what Dapple was. " He shall have 


every care here ; and when you go to your 
island, you may treat him as you please, 
and give him rest from further labours." 

Then having finally dismissed Sancho, off 
tripped the duchess to amuse the duke with 
an account of all that had taken place, and 
to devise with him further jests on knight- 
errantry that they could put in practice on 
Don Quixote and his squire. 

Chapter XVIL 

TN accordance with a plan agreed upon, the 
duke's steward was sent the following 
afternoon with a suitable equipage to convey 
Sancho to the island of which he had been 
promised the governorship, and for which 
purpose the duke had chosen a small town 
in his dominions, which possessed the one 
drawback that it was quite inland. Such a 
trifle as this, however, was not worth con- 
sidering, nor likely to trouble Sancho's mind 
very greatly. 

The time had now actually arrived for 
Sancho to depart ; and as he must be suitably 
clad for the post he was to occupy, a long 
sad-coloured gown and a cap to match were 
brought to him and placed over his usual 


clothes ; and thus attired, he was 
mounted sideways on a mule, while 
X Dapple, clad in gaudy trappings of 
silk, was led behind. 

Before mounting, he kissed the 
hands of the duke and duchess, and 
if some compunction seized them at 
the thought of the tricks they were 
practising on him, it did not appear in their 
smiling faces. Very different was the part- 
ing with Don Quixote, for tears of genuine 
emotion were in the knight's eyes as he 
bade his faithful squire an affectionate fare- 
well. As for Sancho, he fairly sobbed with 
grief as his beloved master gave him his 

Don Quixote, indeed, was no less deeply 
affected, and as soon as Sancho had actually 
left him, he missed him so sorely that, had 
it been in his power, he would at once 
have recalled him and cancelled his appoint- 

Even the duchess's frivolous nature was 
touched by the signs of his disquiet, and she 
begged him to employ the services of any 


squire or damsel he chose about the castle 
in place of his departed servant. 

But with courteous dignity Don Quixote 
refused this offer, saying that all he asked 
was that he should be alone in his apartment 
and be his own servant, since he could no 
longer be waited upon by Sancho Panza. 

Meanwhile Sancho was proceeding on the 
journey to the scene of his new honours, 
which he was given to understand was called 
the island of Barataria, and after he had 
gone some few leagues the town selected 
was reached. Here, in accordance with 
orders previously given by the duke, the 
chief magistrates came out to meet him with 
the keys, the bells rang, and the people 
gave every sign of joy. He was then solemnly 
conducted to the principal church, and from 
thence to the Court of Justice, where he was 
placed in the judgment seat. 

Two cases were now brought before him 
to decide, and the first of these was a suit 
between a farmer and a tailor. The tailor's 
account of the business was that the farmer 
had brought him a piece of cloth, and asked 


him if there were enough to make a cap. 
To this he replied that there was. The 
farmer, thinking he would probably cheat 
him, then asked if there were enough to 
make two caps. Again the tailor answered 
yes, and in the end he agreed that there 
was enough cloth to make five caps. Now r 
when the farmer returned, the tailor had 
kept his part of the bargain, and the five 
caps were ready ; but the farmer refused to 
keep his, and would not pay for the work. 

" Is this true " ? asked Sancho of the 

" Yes, sir, if it please you," he replied, 

tis true enough, but I would have you see 
the caps." 

Whereupon he pulled his hand from 
under his cloak, and disclosed five tiny 
caps fitted on the thumb and each finger, 
at which sight the whole court fell to 

" The judgment of the court is," said 
Sancho, " that the tailor shall lose the mak- 
ing of the caps, and the farmer the cloth, 
and the caps themselves shall be given to the 

cc » 


poor prisoners, and so let there be an end to 
the business." 

After these disputants two old men ap- 
peared before the judgment seat, one of 
whom said that he had lent the other ten 
gold crowns, and could not get repayment. 

" But," he wound up, " as I have no 
witness of the loan, nor has he of the pay- 
ment which for his part he declares he has 
made, I beseech your lordship to put him 
to his oath ; and if he will swear he has 
paid me, I will freely forgive him." 

" What say you to this ? " asked Sancho 
of the other, who held a staff in his hand. 

" Sir," he answered, " I own he lent me 
the gold, and beg now that you will hold 
down your rod of justice that I may swear 
upon it how I have honestly and in truth 
repaid him." 

Thereupon Sancho held down his rod, and 
the old man, after handing his own staff to 
the plaintiff, made a cross over it, and swore 
that he had returned the loan into the 
other's hands. 

The other man now said that as he felt 


sure the defendant would not forswear him- 
self, he supposed he must have forgotten 
that he had been repaid. The man who 
had sworn then took his staff again from the 
plaintiff's hand, and both prepared to leave 
the court when Sancho stopped them. 

" Honest man," he cried to the one with 
the staff, " let me look at that staff of yours 
for a moment." 

" Certainly, your honour," he replied, 
handing it to him. 

Sancho took the staff, and imme- 
diately handed it to the other man, 
saying, — 

" There, take this in payment for 
your ten crowns." 

" How so ? " said the man, regard- 
ing the staff with puzzled eyes. " Do 
you judge this staff to be worth ten 
crowns ? " 

" That I do," said Sancho, " unless I 

am a blockhead ; break it open and see." 

This was immediately done, when, 

o to every one's surprise, out fell the ten 

gold crowns from the hollow inside. 


Every one was amazed at Sancho's wisdom, 
but he soon explained how he found out the 
trick. He had noticed, he said, how par- 
ticular the owner of the staff had been to 
place it in the other's hands before he took 
the oath, in which he said he had placed the 
money in his hands ; and when he saw him 
take the staff back again, the truth of the 
case occurred to him. 

This concluded the matter, but the steward 
who was commissioned to make note of all 
that Sancho did for the future amusement 
of the duke and duchess, began to have grave 
doubts as to whether the honest fellow were 
such a fool as they thought him after all. 

Chapter XVIII. 


tTROM the Court of Justice, Sancho was 
conducted to a room in a sumptuous 
palace, where he found the cloth spread and 
everything ready for a banquet. Music was 
heard as he entered, and four pages waited 
on him with bowls of water and damask 
towels for the washing of his hands. This 
over, Sancho seated himself at the table, 
which was only laid for one; and as he did 
so, a grave-looking person with a wand in 
his hand took up his position behind him. 

A cloth which covered the dishes on the 
table was removed, displaying a great variety 
of meats and fruits, and a page at the same 
time placed a dish of the fruit before Sancho. 
Hardly had he tasted it, however, when the 



man with the wand touched it, and 
it was instantly removed. A dish of 
meat which followed it was treated 
in the same manner ; and Sancho, 
much annoyed at this, looked round 
for an explanation, which the person 
with the wand proceeded to give. 

" I am a physician, my lord," he 
said, " and I am paid to take charge 
of the governor's health. Now my 
principal duty is to attend at his 
meals in order to prevent his eat- 
ing anything that might injure his health. 
Therefore I ordered the fruit to be taken 
away because it is too cool and moist, and 
the meat because it is much too hot." 

" Well, then," said Sancho, " the roast 
partridges over there can surely do me no 

" Hold ! " cried the physician. " Of those 
you shall not eat while I live to prevent it ; 
for do not learned men agree that while all 
repletion is bad, that which comes from over- 
much partridge is the worst of all ? ' 

"If that be so," said Sancho, "I prithee, 


Mr. Doctor, tell me which of the many good 
things before me I may eat, for, as I live, I 
am ready to die of hunger." 

" In truth," replied the physician, " I see 
nothing here that I can recommend. Those 
rabbits, for instance, it were most unwise to 
taste, and yonder dish of veal you must not 
touch, as it is roasted. If it were neither 
roasted nor pickled, it might be a different 
matter. Therefore what I would advise at 
present, as a fit diet for the preservation of 
the governor's health, is a hundred small 
wafers and a few thin slices of preserved 

At this the exasperated Sancho flew into 
such a rage, and threatened the physician 
with such dreadful punishments if he did not 
allow him to eat something, that the man 
was quite terrified, and would have crept out 
of the room if the attention of all had not 
been diverted by the sound of a post-horn in 
the street below, and this was followed by 
the entrance of an express messenger from 
the duke, who handed a letter to Sancho. 

As the governor was not able to read, he 


was compelled to hand this important docu- 
ment to the steward, by whom it was passed 
on to one who announced himself as the 
secretary. Having looked at the letter this 
man declared that the matter was strictly 
private, whereupon Sancho ordered all but 
these two men and the carver to leave the 

The secretary then read to him as 
follows : — 

" I have received information, my Lord Don 
Sancho ^anza, that some of our enemies intend 
to attac\ your island 'With great fury one of 
these nights ; you ouglit therefore to be watch- 
ful and stand upon your guard. I have also 
intelligence from faithful spies that there are four 
men got into the town in disguise to murder you. 
L,oo\ about you ; ta\e heed how you admit 
strangers to speak to you, and eat nothing sent to 
you as a present. I will take care to send you 
assistance if you stand in need of it. And in 
everything I rely on your prudence. 

" From our castle, the 1 6 th of August. — Tour 
friend, The Duke." 


Every one seemed dismayed and surprised 
at these tidings, and Sancho, after a few 
minutes of silence, said, — 

" The first thing to be done is to clap that 
fellow the physician into a dungeon, for if 
any one has a mind to kill me, it must be 
he with the slow death of starvation." 

" All the same," said the carver, " I am of 
opinion that it were not well to eat any of 
the dishes before you now, for they were 
sent in by some of the convents." 

" Then let me have for the present a lunch 
of bread and some dried raisins," said Sancho ; 
" for if I go without food much longer I 
shall die of hunger, and in raisins there can't 
surely lurk any poison. Meanwhile do you, 
Mr. Secretary, send my Lord Duke an 
answer, and tell him his orders shall be care- 
fully obeyed." 

Chapter XIX* 

IN spite of the alarming message from the 
duke, seven days passed without Sancho's 
government being disturbed by outside ene- 
mies, though during that time he was sorely 
troubled by the many cares and difficulties 
of his exalted position. 

On the seventh night, however, events of 
a sufficiently alarming and exciting character 
took place. 

Sancho had retired for the night, and was 
about to fall asleep, when he was startled by 
a great noise of bells accompanied by a tre- 
mendous outcry, which caused him to sit up 
in bed and listen intently. The noise seemed 
to draw nearer, and to become confused with 
that from a number of drums and trumpets, 

(1,481) 9 


making altogether such a terrific uproar that 
Sancho sprang out of bed and made for one 
of the corridors, hoping to escape. As he 
did so, he encountered a body of about 
twenty men running towards him with 
drawn swords and lighted torches, and crying 
as they did so, — 

" Arm ! my Lord Governor, arm ! An 
army of enemies has arrived in the island, 
and we are put to confusion unless your 
valour and courage save us." 

" How can I arm ? " cried the terrified 
Sancho in reply. " What do I know of 
arms or fighting ? " 

" Go to, my Lord Governor," they re- 
plied. " Surely thou art not faint-hearted ? 
See, we bring you here arms defensive 
and offensive. Arm yourself, we entreat, 
and lead us on, as a governor should, to 
the market place." 

With this they displayed two enormous 
shields which they bound closely to his 
body with cords, one behind and one be- 
fore, and placing a lance in his hand, 
bade him lead them on to victory. 


The unfortunate governor attempted to do 
so, but found the weight and position of the 
shields made it impossible for him to move, 
and after one or two vain efforts, he ended 
by falling full length on the ground, where 
he lay quite helpless like a tortoise in its 

While he was in this miserable position, 
the men put out the lights and made such a 
terrible noise and clatter with their swords 
that Sancho thought they were actually en- 
gaged with the enemy. Squeezed up be- 
tween the two shields, unable to stir and in 
the midst of all this terrible confusion and 
warfare, the poor governor felt in a grievous 
plight. At last, to his intense relief, he heard 
a cry : — 

" Victory ! The enemy is put to flight. 
Rise up, Lord Governor, and divide the 
spoils ! " 

" Help me up," cried Sancho ; and when 
they had done so, he continued, " I will 
divide no spoils, but if I have one friend 
here, I beg he will give me a draught of 
wine to comfort me," 


This was done, and the shields removed ; 
but Sancho was so spent with fright and with 
the discomfort and injuries he had suffered, 
that he fell into a swoon, somewhat to the 
dismay of the actors in the scene, who began 
to fear that they had carried the jest too far. 

Sancho, however, soon recovered, and the 
first thing he asked on coming to his senses 
was the time of day. 

He was told it was close upon dawn. 

To this he made no reply, but creeping 
very slowly, on account of his bruises, he 
made his way to the palace stables, where 
he came to his own true and faithful friend 

With tears in his eyes Sancho kissed the 
ass on his forehead. 

" Come hither, my faithful companion and 
friend, the fellow-sharer in all my travels and 
misfortunes," he said. " When thou and I 
consorted together, then happy were my 
days. But since I forsook thee and clambered 
up the towers of ambition and pride, a thou- 
sand woes and troubles have tormented my 


With these words he fitted on Dapple's 
pack-saddle, and of all the company who 
had followed him and who stood by, none 
spoke a word. 

The ass being now saddled, Sancho 
mounted him with difficulty, and addressing 
those present, he said, — 

" Make way, gentlemen, and let me re- 
turn to my former liberty. I would seek 
my old course of life, and leave this death 
which here buries me alive. I would rather 
solace myself under the shade of an oak in 
summer, and wrap myself in a sheepskin 
in winter, with liberty, than lay me down 
in fine holland sheets, and case my body in 
costly furs, with the slavery of governor- 
ship. Heaven be with you, good gentle- 
folks, and pray tell my Lord Duke from 
me that poor was I born, and poor I will 
remain. Without a penny I came to this 
governorship, and without a penny do I 
leave it. Clear the way then, I beseech you, 
and let me pass." 

" In truth," said the one who had taken 
the part of physician, turning to the others, 


" the great Sancho is in the right, and I am 
of opinion we ought to let him go." 

To this they all agreed, and only offered 
to attend him on his journey if he wished, 
and to supply him with any refreshment he 
might need by the way. 

" I require no attendance, being but a 
simple peasant," said Sancho in reply. " All 
I ask is a little bread and cheese for myself 
and some corn for my ass. And now fare- 

Being supplied with these humble requi- 
sites, he embraced those he left with tears in 
his honest eyes, and started forth alone to 
rejoin Don Quixote at the duke's castle. 

Chapter XX. 


'M' I GHT overtook Sancho before his journey 

was ended, and rather than go on 
in the dark he sought a convenient 
place where he might spend it by the 
way. With this object he left the 
main road, and here a most unfortunate 
accident befell him ; for coming un- 
awares in the dark to a deep hole 
among some ruined buildings, he and 
Dapple fell into it. 

They fell for about three fathoms, 
and then Dapple alighted on solid 
ground, and Sancho, to his great re- 
lief, found himself still mounted on 
his back, and unhurt. He now dis- 
mounted and began to explore the 


pit carefully with his hands, hoping it might 
be possible to escape, but the sides were so 
steep that there was no chance of any foot- 
hold being found there ; while, to add to 
his distress, poor Dapple, who had suffered 
a good deal by his fall, now began to give 
expression to his feelings with such doleful 
sounds that they quite pierced his master's 

There was no help for it, however, and 
both Sancho and Dapple had to spend the 
whole night in the pit. Nor did daylight 
bring them much consolation, for the light 
of the sun only served to show Sancho that 
to get out at all without help was utterly 

He then set to work to shout and call 
with all his might ; but as there was not a 
single soul anywhere within hearing, this, 
of course, had no result. He next turned 
his attention to Dapple, and helped the poor 
beast, who could scarcely stand, on to his 
legs. The corn supplied for him the day 
before had already been eaten, but some of 
Sancho's bread was left in his wallet, and 


with this he now fed him ; and seeking to 
console him with one of the proverbs he so 
much loved, he told him as he ate to re- 
member that " Bread is relief for all kinds 
of grief." On being reminded of this sooth- 
ing fact, it would seem that Dapple took 
some comfort. 

After this, Sancho began to grope about 
in the pit again, and at last, to his joy, he 
found a hole in one side of it just large 
enough for a man to creep through, and with 
some difficulty he got through on all fours, 
and found himself in a large space, through 
the roof of which a ray of the sun pene- 
trated. Cheered by this discovery, he re- 
turned to Dapple and enlarged the opening 
with a stone unti) it was big enough for 
both to pass through ; then taking the ass 
by the halter he led him along the cavern, 
hoping to find another outlet farther on by 
which they could emerge. 

Now it happened that on this self-same 
morning Don Quixote started forth at a very 
early hour mounted on Rozinante, with the 
object of indulging in a little knightly exer- 


cise. As he performed his manoeuvres, now 
charging, now retreating, he chanced to find 
himself suddenly so near the brink of a hole 
that, had he not quickly drawn rein, he and 
Rozinante must have fallen in. The danger 
having been perceived and avoided, he now 
rode a little nearer to the opening to look 
down it, and as he did so he heard faint 
sounds of a voice which seemed to proceed 
from the earth. On listening more atten- 
tively he distinctly heard the words, — 

" Ho ! above there ! Is there any Christian 
who hears me ? any charitable gentleman that 

will take pity on me, a most unfortunate, 

disgoverned governor, buried here alive?" 
" Surely," said Don Quixote with 

much amazement, " that sounds like the 

voice of Sancho ! " 

" Who is below there ? Who asks 

for help ? ' he shouted down the cave. 
" Who should it be," replied the same 

voice, "but the forlorn Sancho Panza, for 

his sins and evil-errantry made governor 
of the island of Barataria, and late the squire 
of Don Quixote de la Mancha ! " 


On this the knight's amazement was 
doubled, and so extraordinary did it seem to 
him that Sancho could really be there under- 
ground, that even now he thought there 
must be some mystery behind it. 

" I adjure thee," he said again, " to tell 
me who thou art, and let me know what I 
can do for thee." 

" Body of me ! " answered the voice, " if 
by the tone of the voice it be not my master 
Don Quixote himself ! " 

" Don Quixote I am," replied the knight, 
even yet not satisfied as to Sancho's identity. 
" So inform me who thou indeed art, for 
thou fillest me with amazement." 

" I vow by all that is sacred that I am 
verily, as I said, Sancho Panza," replied the 
voice ; " and that, having yesterday left my 
governorship for reasons and causes that it 
will take time to relate, I fell after dark into 
this cavern, and Dapple with me, who stands 
beside me now." 

At this point the ass, as though he had under- 
stood, began to bray lustily, and this evidence 
succeeded in finally convincing Don Quixote. 


" By my faith, I know that bray," he 
said. " And I know thy voice too, my dear 
Sancho. Stay a while, and I will go to the 
castle and ask the duke for assistance to get 
thee out of the pit." 

So off Don Quixote hastened, and soon 
returned with several men, ropes, and pulleys, 
by means of which the unfortunate Sancho 
and Dapple were hoisted out of the pit and 
once more saw the light of day. 

Quite a crowd had collected by the time 
this was accomplished ; and accompanied by 
a number of people, Sancho at last arrived 
at the castle, where he was eager to see the 
duke and to explain his unexpected return 
from the governorship. 

Even this consideration, however, must give 
way to another, and before Sancho sought 
the ducal presence he insisted on seeing that 
Dapple was comfortably housed and given a 
good meal after his unfortunate experiences. 

He then appeared before the duke and 
duchess, to whom he gave a simple and 
straightforward account of his governorship, 
and of all that had happened since he saw 



them last. At the close the duke, genuinely 
touched bv his honest recital, embraced 
Sancho, and told him that he regretted he 
had so soon left the post, but that he hoped 
to find him some other employment in his 
service of more profit and less trouble. The 
duchess, too, embraced him, and ordered 
that he should be well taken care of, and 
have his injuries attended to ; for, indeed, he 
still seemed sorely bruised and shaken by 
all he had gone through. 

Now that his squire had returned to 
him, Don Quixote began to think that he 
had led the life of ease and luxury at the 
duke's castle as long as was fitting for 
a knight-errant. Accordingly one day 
soon after Sancho's return, he informed 
the duke and duchess of his feelings, 
and asked their leave to depart. 

This they gave, though only with 
much reluctance, and on the following 
morning the knight, accompanied by 
Sancho on Dapple, and mounted himself 
on Rozinante, started forth as of old, 
making towards the town of Barcelona. 

Chapter XXL 


A^HEN the knight and his squire reached 
the town of Barcelona, and for the 
first time in their lives saw the sea, whose 
vast expanse now lay spread out before them, 
they reined in their animals and stood still 
for a time to enjoy the spectacle. That 
sparkling and ever moving mass was 
indeed a wondrous sight to eyes which 
had never before beheld any larger 
body of water than certain lakes in La 
Mancha ; and to add to the interest of 
the scene, several galleys decked with 
flags lay at anchor in front of the 
town, and presently the vessels were 
put in motion, a numerous body of 
gaily-dressed cavaliers appeared on the 


quay, and to the sound of trumpets, haut- 
boys, and other martial instruments a mimic 
battle took place. 

While Don Quixote remained absorbed in 
the contemplation of this, a body of cavaliers 
perceived him and came galloping up, while 
one of them cried, — 

" Welcome to our city, O mirror and 
polar star and beacon of knight-errantry ! " 

Then with his followers he began to 
curvet round Don Quixote, who turned to 
Sancho in much bewilderment. 

The gentleman who had before spoken 
now again addressed the knight, and begged 
him to accompany him to his house, ex- 
plaining that he had heard of him and his 
expected arrival ; and after this further inter- 
change of courtesies, Don Quixote accepted 
the invitation. 

The name of his new host turned out to 
be Don Antonio Moreno, and as he was 
both rich and very good-humoured, Don 
Quixote was comfortably lodged and treated 
with many kindnesses ; but at the same time 
Don Antonio did not scruple to make him 


contribute to his own amusement, and made 
him the subject of various pranks and jests, 
which Don Quixote received with his usual 

One of these was to take him out for the 
air mounted on a gorgeously draped mule, 
and with a notice pinned to his back, which, 
unknown to himself, proclaimed him to be 
the famous knight Don Quixote. The con- 
sequence was that he was followed by a 
crowd who shouted his name, all of which 
convinced the knight that his fame had 
spread through the town, and that he was 
recognized at once as the renowned Knight 
of the Lions. 

Another trick played upon him was 
that of an enchanted head, which was a 
bronze bust placed on a small table, and 
from which answers to many questions asked 
it by a mixed company were given. This 
was in reality done by means of a tube con- 
nected with the bust, at the other end of 
which was placed one who was a party to 
the deception, and very skilful at carrying 
it out. 


But now an adventure must be related 
which befell Don Quixote, to his shame and 
confusion, and which brought his knight- 
errantry to a close. 

One morning, after he had been a few 
days in Barcelona, he was riding out 
to take the air, when he saw approach 
him another knight armed in similar 
fashion to himself, and with a bright 
full moon blazoned on his shield. On 
approaching nearer, this man called 
out, — 

"Illustrious Don Quixote, I am 
the Knight of the White Moon, 
accounts of whose achievements have 
perchance reached your ears. Lo ! I am 
come to enter into combat with you, and 
to compel you by the point of my sword 
to acknowledge my mistress, whoever she 
may be, as of greater beauty than the Lady 
Dulcinea del Toboso. The conditions of 
our fight shall be these : If victory be on 
my side, you shall be obliged immediately 
to forsake your arms and the quest of adven- 
tures and to retire to your own home, where 


you shall engage to live quietly and peace- 
ably for the space of one year, without laying 
hand on your sword. But if, on the other 
hand, you come off the conqueror, my life 
is at your mercy, my horse and my arms 
shall be your trophy, and the fame of all my 
former exploits be vested in you as con- 
queror. Consider what you have to do, and 
let your answer be quick, for my dispatch is 
limited to this one day." 

Don Quixote, who was much surprised 
both at the nature of this challenge and 
at the arrogant tone in which it was de- 
livered, replied in a composed and solemn 
manner, — 

" Knight of the White Moon,whose achieve- 
ments have as yet been kept from my know- 
ledge, perchance your eyes have never beheld 
the peerless Dulcinea ; but in any case, I 
tell you that in rating any other beauty as 
before hers you are mistaken, and to main- 
tain this opinion I accept your challenge 
and all its conditions, except that as to your 
past exploits being credited to me, for as I 
know not what character they may bear, I 


prefer to remain satisfied with the fame of 
my own. And now choose your ground and 
let our combat begin. " 

While the preliminaries were being ar- 
ranged between the two knights, tidings of 
the appearance of the Knight of the White 
Moon and of the approaching battle had been 
conveyed to the viceroy, who now hurried 
to the scene, expecting to find that this was 
some trick of Don Antonio's, of whose en- 
tertainment of Don Quixote he was aware. 
But Don Antonio, who with other gentle- 
men also repaired in all haste to the scene of 
the approaching conflict, assured him that 
he knew no more about it than he did him- 
self, and was absolutely in ignorance as to 
the real identity of Don Quixote's foe, and 
also as to whether the battle were in jest or in 
earnest. And now Don Quixote was wheel- 
ing Rozinante ready for the onset, and the 
battle was about to begin. The issue was not 
long undecided. As Don Quixote advanced 
against the other knight, the latter also set 
spurs to his horse, which, being a very 
powerful animal, caused Don Quixote and 


Rozinante to come to the ground in a 
terrible fall. 

Then with the point of his sword to Don 
Quixote's face, the Knight of the White 
Moon said, — 

" Knight, you are vanquished, and a dead 
man unless you immediately fulfil the condi- 
tions of our combat. " 

To which Don Quixote, bruised and half 
stunned by his fall, made answer in a faint, 
hollow voice, — 

" Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beauti- 
ful woman in the world. Pierce my body 
with thy sword, knight, and let my life expire 
with my honour." 

" Nay," replied the conqueror, " I will 
resort not to these extreme measures. The 
fame of Dulcinea shall remain unblemished, 
and I am satisfied if the great Don Quixote 
return home for a year, as agreed upon before 
the combat." 

To this Don Quixote consented, and the 
Knight of the White Moon, leaving him to 
rise in safety, galloped off the field, whence 
he was followed by Don Antonio, who, at a 


hint from the viceroy started to catch him 
up and find out if possible his real identity. 

Don Antonio soon traced him to an inn 
and proceeded to question him. 

The knight, who was quite willing to 
answer any inquiries, said in reply, — 

" My name is Samson Carrasco, and I live 
in the same village as Don Quixote, and have 
undertaken to try to cure him of this mad- 
ness of knight-errantry. About three months 
ago I had an encounter with him in a wood 
for this object, but unfortunately I had the 
worst of it that time, and he unhorsed me, 
so I accomplished nothing. But now I have 
made this second attempt, and, as you see, 
succeeded ; for I know him to be so just and 
honourable a gentleman that he will un- 
doubtedly keep his promise and return to his 
village for a year, which will be a matter of 
great rejoicing to his niece and all his friends. 
I entreat you, therefore, sir, to give no hint 
of my identity to the knight himself, lest I 
am, after all, foiled for a second time in my 

This promise Don Antonio gave, though 


at the same time he was annoyed to find the 
sport at the expense of Don Quixote put to 
an end, and assured Samson that he was con- 
fident that it would take more than his 
scheme to cure him of his madness. 

Samson, however, was satisfied with all he 
had accomplished ; and with Don Antonio's 
promise not to reveal his secret, bade him 
farewell, and having divested himself of his 
armour, he mounted his horse and set off 
on his homeward journey. 

Chapter XXII. 

U*OR six days after this adventure did Don 
Quixote keep his bed, too much bruised 
to move, while to his bodily ailments was 
added great dejection of spirits at his over- 

As soon as he was fit to travel, he set 
out on his journey homewards, with 
his armour on Dapple's back. Sancho 
was consequently compelled to trudge 
along on foot, and the knight himself 
in ordinary dress rode on the back of 

In this mournful fashion they jour- 
neyed for many days, and at last they 
reached their own village, where, in 
accordance with the conditions of the 


defeat, Don Quixote was bound to spend 
a year in peace. 

As they drew near to the village they saw 
Samson at a little distance, who immediately, 
on perceiving them, rushed to give them 
welcome with every expression of delight. 
The news of their arrival now spread through 
the village before they could reach it, and 
at the door of his own house Don Quixote 
found his niece and his housekeeper standing 
to receive him ; and Sancho's wife and 
daughter soon joined them there, breathless 
with haste and full of eager questions. 

Accompanied by the latter, and leading 
Dapple by the halter, Sancho repaired to his 
own cottage, where he regaled his family with 
long stories of his marvellous adventures. 
These tales delighted them even more when 
he showed them the gold crowns in his 
possession, which, as he was able to assure 
them, he had come by in all honesty. 

Don Quixote, meanwhile, was relating to 
his own circle the unfortunate event of his 
overthrow which had brought him back 
home ; and great was the worthy knight's 



sorrow and humiliation at having to confess 
how he had been defeated, and his knight- 
errantry forcibly put to an end for a year. 

But, as events turned out, it was 
not for a year only that Don Quixote's 
knight-errantry was ended. 

Only a few days after his return he 
took to his bed, and from this he never 
rose again. Before his death he took 
farewell of all his friends, and bade 
them think of him no more as Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, but as plain 
Alonza Quixano that they had known 
before he took up knight-errantry. 

Then turning to Sancho, who wept 
bitterly at the thought of his master's 
approaching death, he said, — 

" Pardon me, my friend, that I have 
brought on thee the suspicion of madness, 
by drawing thee into my own errors and 
persuading thee that there have been and 
still are knights-errant in the world." 

" Woe is me," sobbed Sancho ; " do not 
die, dear master, I entreat you. Maybe 
you take it a little to heart that you were 


unhorsed and a bit scratched the other day; 
but who knows, the blame may have all been 
due to me for not girthing Rozinante tight 

But the knight would not be comforted. 

" Nay," he said quietly, " I see that I 
was mad, but now I am in my right senses. 
I was once the knight Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, but I am now, as I said before, 
once more plain Alonza Quixano. And now, 
good friends, I would make my last will and 
testament, and confess my sins, for my time 
is short." 

A day or two later he died, deeply 
mourned by all who had known him, for his 
kindly nature and gentle courtesy had won 
the love of every one ; and to the simple 
name of Alonza Quixano, by which he had 
wished to be known and remembered, there 
was added by unanimous consent the title 
of The Good.